When Shadows and Darkness Descend
by Feisty.Green.Snake
Summary: Continued from 'A Light...,' The Shadows now have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing in Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. Fable III: Prince/Reaver.
1. The Lines Between Friend and Foe

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Ladies and gents, here's the continuation to the last fanfic. Can be read without having read the other, and I dare say this fanfic shall also be more deliciously narrated. There are more surprising events now, but I shan't give anything away. Slightly edited due to mistakes in sentences, but nothing in the plotline has changed. Enjoy…

_Summary:__ The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? __Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_When Shadows and Darkness Descend_**

**Chapter One: The Lines Between Friend and Foe**

"The Court of Albion is now in session," announced Walter, his deep voice echoing across the throne room. "All citizens of Albion shall abide by the decisions of the new King from this day forth."

From the throne, Darius resisted the urge to snort. By the vengeful looks that his citizens were giving Logan, despite how they were standing behind the barriers of ribbons and with swarms of guards nearby, he knew that anything exempting Reaver's death would cause discrepancy, even lead to a rioting or two.

The decision that he was about to make – here and now on the throne – would not only affect his future image as King, but also the attitude of his people towards him. After all, he had to wonder if they would truly support a King who could murder his own brother.

"Logan, former King of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against the kingdom and its people. Those who have brought you to justice will now speak," said Walter.

"There isn't a man or woman alive in the kingdom who has not suffered for his glory, and we've plenty who've died for it," declared Sabine, stepping forward quickly to stand beside the throne. "I say we let him have some death of his own!"

"Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off," continued Ben Finn aggressively, with his bruised hands mimicking the slicing of his own neck, "but we saw Major Swift executed, like it was a bloody circus act! And Logan deserves nothing less as far as I'm concerned."

"But aren't we better than that? Isn't that why we fought to be here now?" questioned Page, looking directly in Ben's direction. She seemed disappointed in him, and Ben stepped back. "I've seen what Logan has done to this city. People starving to death, children forced to work…but killing him now won't solve anything."

Kalin stepped forward from her place beside Sabine. The battle had taken its toil; many of her ships had been burned and she seemed quieter now, although her dogged, battered expression could also have been from seeing Logan again for the first time in years.

"It is not my place to decide the former King of Albion's fate," she voiced sincerely. "But his betrayal condemned many of my people to death. He promised us salvation and left us to face the darkness – alone," she finished icily.

"I had good reason to break that promise," grated Logan, his eyes settling on her. "And I had good reason for the crimes you claim I committed. The day I returned to Albion, I received a visit from a blind seer. Theresa, our mother's guide."

Darius leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together.

"Continue," he urged lightly.

"She showed me the future of this kingdom: the darkness in Aurora is coming here, bringing death, destruction, the end of our way of life. The sacrifices that I had to make, I did them to protect Albion. If a few had to suffer, it was to build an Army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country."

Logan shook his head before returning his gaze onto Darius, "…I have spent years preparing for this attack. Let me stand by your side now and all my soldiers will be yours to command. Let us face the coming darkness together…brother."

"If this is true…" murmured Walter, "…if it really is coming here, we're all in grave danger."

"You have grown much since I last saw you, brother – no longer are you a child. But now you have the power of life and death," said Logan. "And so you must choose."

"Your brother's fate is in your hands, Your Majesty," concurred Walter, although not without a hidden hint of sympathy in his tone.

Darius sighed. He placed a hand to his forehead, blocking out the gazes of his citizens if for only a moment. He calculated the likelihood of Albion surviving the attack without Logan's aid; thought if he truly could send his brother to death, and knew that he easily could; and, as he looked back up, he imagined his citizens' reactions.

"It is a difficult decision, Your Majesty," he dimly heard Page call, "…but I ask you to think of Albion. Would we benefit from more death?"

Sabine snorted coldly to Darius' left. "Benefit? Aye, we'd finally gain our revenge against a tyrant, that would be beneficial to our morale."

"The Court shall respectfully rest," scorned Walter, in his old military voice. "This is His Majesty's decision."

"I have finished my verdict," announced Darius, making to stand, "…and I have decided that this is not the time for revenge." He stepped down towards Logan, whose look was nothing but surprised; "If the darkness is truly coming here, we shall be in need of your assistance."

"Restrictions shall be placed on your livelihood, which will be addressed in private, and you shall never be permitted to assume the role as King of Albion again," added Darius formally. "In time, you may attain independence from the Crown, but know that while your actions may be forgiven, they cannot be forgotten."

A citizen booed behind the barriers. Darius ignored them; his gaze remained unwaveringly on Logan, who nodded resignedly.

"You shall everything that is at my disposal…brother."

"The King has made his decision. Logan's life shall be spared," called Walter. "The Court is now at an end."

People were grumbling as they exited the room. The sight of so many sneers cast in Logan's direction was daunting, but Darius had made his decision. He could only hope with a sigh, as the last citizen trailed out of the throne room, that its consequences would not be so dire.

But as the throne room's doors closed, an aggravating sigh was heard from behind. He turned to see Sabine's eyes glancing between Logan and himself.

"Just know that, while the dwellers and I will stand by your decision, I shan't be fighting any darkness beside 'im," motioned Sabine towards Logan.

Ben groaned as he walking down the steps to stand beside Darius.

"You do know, mate," Ben added, "…that choosing not to lop off Logan's head will come back to bite us in the –"

"Language, Ben!" barked Page. "The King has made his decision, and as much as I despise Logan –" she shot him a venomous look to boot "– it was the right choice to not to kill him."

"Ah yes, I'm sure Darius would love to be remembered as a _loving_ King who never so much as whacked a fly," muttered Ben stubbornly.

"I'll whack you in a minute if you keep up that arrogance," she threatened.

"Just admit it, Page," snickered Ben, "you only use violence to get close to me."

Darius groaned.

Logan huffed, and glanced at his younger brother. "Well, I do not see how you could have ever taken this castle with all this quarrelling to listen to," he remarked sneeringly.

Ben had apparently forgotten his presence for a mere moment, but as his light eyes settled on Logan once more, it was more than obvious he was grinding his teeth.

"Listen, Logan, I hope you have someone watching your back –"

Time stopped, and as Darius observed past Ben, he spotted the familiar sight of a grey portal swirling into appearance in front of the throne.

He heard a disdainful sniff from beside him – only to see that Logan was still moving. He had a hand on his chin and was evidently breathing still.

"Theresa's powers don't affect you?" he questioned, frowning.

"It would appear not," replied Logan idly, stepping around Ben to face it. "But then, this is her doing, then, is it? I've never seen such a thing happen –"

"It's a portal that transports you to a mystical Road," informed Darius, equally moving up the stairs, "and no one I know has been able to see this portal, much less move once Theresa's spell stops time."

"As it should be," came the echoing of Theresa. She stepped through the portal, and Logan retreated back, scowling.

"Theresa," he seethed under his breath, "you haven't changed one bit, it would seem."

"Whereas you have a great deal, Logan, but I think it has been for the better," she replied idly, before seeking out Darius. "You have completed yet another step on the road. You were little more than a child when you left the castle, and now, you have become a leader, a true Hero, and a monarch. But your journey is not yet done…"

Darius' vision swirled, and he bent down to his knees as his mind clouded with images. He saw Logan's face – concerned and angrily speaking with Theresa – before his vision finally blacked out and a map of Albion replaced it.

"Albion will soon be attacked, and the threat could not be greater," Theresa echoed.

Aurora was first clouded by darkness, and then it spread across the sea towards Albion, where another force – one more clouded in mists – was evidently growing in Wraithmarsh. The two forces clashed and spilled, leaving tides of destruction over the land. The map retreated from his mind before the land could be covered, and Darius stood up, hazy on his feet.

"Darkness and shadows are coming," said Theresa, "and only as Albion's ruler may you tip the tides against them. Only a benevolent ruler, a Hero, and not alone but with the forces of all three, can defeat such an attack. "

"Wait – my brother – a _Hero_?"

"You are a Hero, too, Logan," she remarked, and Darius' eyebrows shot up. "Did you never think as to why you should so great a strength as a child? Why you favoured with the blade and not the modern firearm in your youth? Why, even now as you have forfeited everything, it is your sword of which you miss above all else that was taken from you?"

"You – how did you know all this!" he demanded.

Theresa remained silent. Loan would not hit her; he was not a cruel man, but Darius swore that Logan looked close to leaving the throne room in a rage.

Nevertheless, Darius was also scowling. Listening to them, he had recovered his senses easily and was once again angered by Theresa's continued interference in their lives. Why had she never told him that his brother was a Hero of Strength!

"It was never about the darkness, then, was it? Or Logan," spat Darius, stepping forward. His brother caught his arm, however, and just for a moment their eyes met with an understanding between them over how they had both been manipulated. But Darius still turned his gaze back onto her, "Why did you wait so long to tell me? Why do you need me – specifically me – on the throne?"

"Simply, there is no other Hero as benevolent nor as capable in ruling," she versed, causing Darius to snort, as he was hardly benevolent. "But beware, young Heroes – this is only the beginning. You will need to build an Alliance, for the darkness and shadows shall arise to fight for power in a single year's time, against you and all else, and you must be ready."

Theresa stepped towards the portal, and without turning her head, she whispered, "…Unless you can form this alliance, all of the history that has yet to come will cease to be to this evil."

Theresa vanished into the portal, and it swirled closed behind her.

"– Because I still haven't forgiven you for Major Swift's execution," Ben finished, with glaring eyes and a clenched fist.

The King sighed as reality returned with the passing of time, and Logan stepped back to give Darius space. No doubt, his thoughts were also still on Theresa's words.

"Actually, Ben," begun Darius, returning to the pressing matter at hand, "I think you're the best person suited to being in charge of the security for Logan."

"What – _no_! No!"

"Yes, you are. But look, we'd best discuss it in the war room," advised Darius, although by his tone it was more an order. "I don't want to be overheard by anyone."

"Aye, these walls are paper thin," agreed Walter, "…and I've seen more than enough of the throne room for one morning."

"Fine, but my answer is still gonna be the same," he griped.

They vacated the throne room, leaving the servants to endeavour inside and begin cleaning, in favour of the war room, which was more a secured location given that it was near the back of the castle and thus were unlikely to be overheard by any common servant.

/***\

The war room's occupants gradually diminished, with Page and Ben both motioning that they had best return to the base in Bowerstone before darkness settled in. Sabine also decreed that, although he would return swiftly tomorrow by carriage, he desired to return to the Mountains to settle the dwellers.

As for Kalin, Darius requested for her to remain as an Ambassador for the present time. There was much to discuss over the battle's impact upon Aurora, and besides, her ships would need some repair at the docks before she and her people could safely return aboard them.

Finally, Logan retreated in want of a guest room for the night, since his new room was not yet prepared. Under much persuasion, Ben had agreed to guard and also choose others to watch over Logan, if only as that gained him a room in the place. Logan could thereby remain in the castle under constant surveillance, and although this angered Sabine, the prospect that Logan would never have a moment alone to himself appeased him.

"The line between friend and foe is growing dimmer by the day," Walter murmured, as he downed yet another glass of red wine. "Dare I say, that was a risky move in keeping your brother's life, lad."

"He's a Hero, Walter," admitted Darius finally, with a quiet sigh, "…and we need his troops. Like I said earlier, both the darkness and shadows will come within a year. Theresa showed us…and we need to build an alliance, build bridges with people in order to face it."

Walter balked, snorting loudly.

"Aye, but I'll sure as hell be keeping a peg nose with me if you start allying us with Hobbes," he laughed, before shaking his head and sighing. "Anyway, tomorrow, you'll be meeting your new Royal Advisor, Hobson. He's…well, obsessed with wealth, but he did serve your brother well whilst under him and you will need to raise a fortune to pay for the Army we'll need against this attack."

Darius scoffed. "Let's just hope he's loyal."

Walter rolled his eyes. They sat for another hour in the war room, tossing out ideas for troop organisation whilst laughing idly, but as the evening progressed and the realisation of what they were facing settled upon them, they excused themselves finally and each made for their own beds in the castle.

Darius trudged from the war room and entered his chambers up the stairs, turning to slam the doors shut. Prior to the morning and his moving in to the Castle, the servants had changed his sheets and quilts, as well having assisted in placing all his goods away in drawers and closets. It was all neatly sorted and placed, but still not one ounce of it felt homely.

For a start, the bedroom was all too close to the throne room for his tastes.

"Well, that was quite the little stir-up of the century, my King," Reaver remarked casually.

Startled, Darius turned around, his eyes locking onto the Industrious man in front of him.

"Reaver," he murmured.

"And may I humbly say, Your Majesty, how fitting you do look. Why, I should even say that you are quite handsomely glowing in your new…attire."

Reaver's eyes were lingering upon his crown. Although pretty thing of gold and diamonds, its weight seemed only another heavy burden – a reminder, if nothing else – that sat on the newly anointed King's already pressing mind of what he had gone through to become King.

Darius sent Reaver a weary scowl in return.

"How long have you been here? And were here already – watching my first act as King?"

"Ah, I have not been here long. I did not overhear the entire proceedings, as they would have been entirely too dull for my senses, but I did catch the ending," he alluded, chuckling lightly. "And what a sentimental ending it was, I must say, to save your beloved sibling from those vengeful masses. But then, I have never been all that interested in family matters –"

"Reaver, I am tired…and I am certainly not interested in what you're interested in right now," Darius belittled, catching the man's responding frown. "I sent for you only because of my son's dire health."

"You sent for me, my King?" remarked Reaver, sounding somewhat surprised and yet more so amused. "Oh, well I must have missed the messenger…or simply shot him by mistake. I left Bloodstone not two days after your own departure and have been in Bowerstone for some time now, attending to my beloved factories."

"Yes, of course – your factories," muttered Darius, with his brow narrowing, "…as well as attempting to evade the shadows, I take it?"

Reaver looked like he hadn't slept a wink since their last encounter aboard his ship, when Darius had returned from attempting to fulfil his end of their bargain. It puzzled him why Reaver hadn't been angry, even violent, with him – hadn't shot or thrown a wine glass for having failed to continue his petty deal with the Shadows.

"Oh, they have tried," Reaver replied, with a small smile on his lips, "…but like so many, they ultimately failed to ensnare me. Those shadows…always so predictable, you know."

Darius sighed wearily in annoyance. He couldn't deal with figuring out both Theresa and Reaver's vague remarks. Together, the two were sure to drive him mad.

"Look, if you cannot help my son, Reaver," he voiced, feeling tired of playing games and speaking idly, "then the only thing that you shall be useful for in the near coming future is your beloved factories."

Reaver sniffed in disdain. His clutch upon his walking stick seemed to harden – to tighten – and Darius cautiously moved his hand to his side, where the Black Dragon lay settled at his hip and beneath his green kingly robes.

"Then it seems we are at a cross-road, wouldn't you say, my King," Reaver snapped. He strode forwards; the stick clicked against the carpet with his every step. "What would you have that would interest me now? You have already rid me of that troublesome rogues in Bloodstone, and you cannot bride me with wealth as any other noble."

"My son is afflicted by the shadows – by what happened when I ventured down into their Court to fulfil your sacrifice," he growled, knowing that his voice sounded desperate and seething with anger. "Assist me, Reaver, in ridding their influence from my son and I will give you whatever you want – anything!"

An eyebrow perked upwards in interest. "Why would the Shadows have an interest in your son?" Reaver asked.

"There are a number of reasons why. He is the son of a Hero, a King; perhaps they wish to see me in pain for ending the sacrifices; perhaps they are simply being malicious, I know not. All I know is that my son, Tristan, has not consumed anything in days and yet still lives. He breathes, but he is like in the sleeping death…and I – I need help."

Darius sighed, sweeping a hand across his forehead.

"So be it. I shall aid you, my King," conceded Reaver, with a short bow and a smug smile; "…although, my condition is that you shall aid me against the shadows. It is by your own hands after all that I am suffering their…wrath now, shall we say?"

"I…fine, Reaver," he answered briskly. "Just follow me. There is something that you should see first before you agree to this."

Darius walked over to the right side of the bedroom and lifted the curtain that blocked their sight from the adjourning room. Reaver followed with a raised brow, one that Darius, if but for a moment, was tempted to slap from his face.

As Reaver entered the small bedroom, bending beneath Darius' arm that held up the curtain and stepping too close within Darius' personal space, the King decidedly ignored him in favour of turning towards the crib.

An unspoken stillness carried over the room. Only their breathing and the muffled chatter of servants outside disturbed the silence.

Reaver politely coughed into one of his gloved palms.

"So – to whom is this little tyke?" he asked, with a perked eyebrow. "Your darling offspring, I take it?"

"Yes, this is Tristan," said Darius. He turned his head and cast Reaver a poisonous glare, almost daring the man to speak ill of his son, "…And if anyone dares to lay even a finger upon him against my will, they will pay – do you understand, Reaver? I will not allow the shadows to have him – not anyone."

Reaver rolled his eyes. "Well, if you have it in your mind that those dammed shadows will simply bow to words, Darius, then you –"

"I won't submit to them, Reaver – not like you did with that deal," he spat spitefully, moving away from his son's sleeping form to face Reaver without the crib between them. "Tristan may be afflicted by them, but I will do everything in my power to stop it."

"What is it that you exactly desire of me, my King?" asked Reaver, stepping forward with his narrowing blue eyes. "Surely, you will have all your little followers doing the manual work, the reading and whatnot, so have use have you for _moi_?"

"A reasonable question, since I do not trust you anyway," he grated in return. "For one, your skills as a Hero; your influence and contacts amongst the populace; that you likely now carry a vendetta against the shadows, am I correct?" Smirking as Reaver huffed, neither conceding nor disagreeing, and so Darius continued on, "But the main reason I _desire_ your help is your knowledge about the shadows. Other than myself, you are the only person that I know of who has crossed them and lived. I don't know a great about your deal with them, and frankly you needn't tell me of it if it does bother you…all I desire of you is your help in ridding their hold from my son."

"You do realise that having crossed the shadows, you will not endanger only your son, but also yourself and others close to you," remarked Reaver pointedly.

"I know," replied Darius idly.

"And you promise to concede anything that I desire to me?"

"As long as it is within my power and reasonable, Reaver," replied Darius. "For example, no wishing for yourself to be King, for all of Albion's wealth and land, or likewise. I'll grant you a title or position, more free rein in your dealings abroad if you wish, anything so long as it is within reason."

Reaver's light eyes drifted down his body. Darius stepped back swiftly, his cheeks aching and assuredly blushing, as he considered that Reaver's mind had turned to lustful thoughts.

_But did Reaver desire him that much, to make that sort of a deal?_

"Would you, my King," voiced Reaver, licking his lips smoothly, "…would you even forfeit your precious Black Dragon pistol to me, my King?"

Taken back by the desire for his gun, masterful though it was, Darius swiftly cast his mind from what he had perceived would be Reaver's intentions.

"Yes," he answered, although not without gritting his teeth as Reaver smirked; "…I would even forfeit the Black Dragon to you, provided that your assistance would be worth it."

Enclosing within his personal space once more, and just as Darius seized a hold of his gun, thinking the man was about to attack, Reaver stuck out his hand. Darius released his grip on his pistol.

Reaver smirked wildly, likely having noticed his movements.

"I believe it is custom to shake hands when concluding a deal, is it not?"

Darius seized Reaver's hand, feeling the warmth beneath and placing it aside in his mind. He could still recall the events between Reaver and himself from weeks ago; how their bodies had pressed lustfully against one another in his ship's hold, separated only by clothing, and how Reaver's lips had left him dazed and wanting.

"We've a deal, Reaver," he answered, "…and make sure you don't betray me again."

"Oh," murmured Reaver, sounding falsely surprised, "Well then, do make sure that you hold up your end of your bargain this time as well. I do hate being disappointed, you know."

Reaver lifted and kissed the back of his hand so lightly, so effortlessly, that Darius felt only the wetness of his soft lips for a mere moment before his hand was lowered down to his side.

"Reaver…" he whispered, in a tone so surprisingly light and tender.

"Yes, my King?"

Not since his crowning had the word – _King_ – seemed so seductive to his ears. Darius felt a sense of pride, of power, over Reaver, and he instantly stepped back to repress such emotions. There were still too many questions that remained unanswered.

"I want an honest answer, Reaver," he stated, sounding firmer than before. "Why are you not angry with me? The shadows must be at your back, for they said they would, and yet here you stand before me – still alive. _How,_ Reaver?"

Reaver sighed. He idly placed his cane against the wall and turned back to face him.

"My return from Bloodstone was only not because I desired to check on my investments, but also because the shadows' influence is spreading," he whispered, with his blue eyes closing and seeming so afraid, so affected, that Darius felt himself caught by Reaver's words. "I can feel their hold on my chest – my heart – tightening. I awoke not two nights ago at the feel of their shadowy presence and defeated them. I immediately then took ship for Bowerstone so that I might now seek answers, but I believe they yet haunt my ruinous Manor."

He scoffed, "And I am quite enraged, Your Majesty, I assure you…but at myself more than you." Reaver shook his head, and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The Shadow Judges will not have me, I swear…"

"Reaver, you have sacrificed hundreds to continue living," reminded Darius pointedly, and yet with a frown. "Surely, you didn't think there wouldn't be consequences to your actions?"

Reaver turned from him to face the wall, pacing if but a little towards it. He seemed tense; his muscles were outlined beneath his patched up white, fur-lined coat. But he turned back, and, much to Darius' irritation, the usual smirk that adorned his face had returned.

"You will forgive me if I don't confess to you my deepest, _darling_ feelings, Your Majesty," he mocked pleasantly, "…or any past events that I am quite sure have been misplaced from my mind due to my untimely busy lifestyle."

"Funny how selective your mind has suddenly become."

Reaver crossed the room towards him, entering his personal space. Darius caught his gaze; Reaver's blue eyes were purple-bagged and alluded to many sleepless nights, but they were also fixed on him, drawing him in with their brightness.

"Alas, it appears that some details have slipped my mind," he murmured idly, with still that smirk adorning his expression. "But, you know, I do seem to recall the journey aboard my ship. Indeed, your inspection in particular of my hold was a most enticing time, was it not?"

Darius sighed and stepped back.

"Just go, Reaver…I'm in no mood to be _enticed_," he rebuked. He felt melancholy, and not in any mood to be distracted, despite an intensifying wish to not spend another night alone. "If you learn of any information on how I might save my son, then provide it. But no doubt, with my kingly role, I'll be seeing you and your industries again all too soon."

Reaver recovered his cane and stood formally upright. "And I shall look forward with all due _desire_ to your visitation, my King," he finished.

He gracefully bowed and vacated from the room with a sweeping movement, passing Darius without casting a single glance more in his direction.

Enraged, Darius broke several chairs and set his bed curtains on fire. A hopeless feeling of wretchedness overwhelmed after he worn out his will, but, as the servants watered down the flames, he could hardly bring himself to care.

It was not for many hours into the night that Darius did fall asleep, and with aching limbs and eyelids, he finally fell into an uncomfortable slumber in the armchair beside his son's crib.


	2. The Black Seal

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Inspired by a book in Fable II called 'The Temple of Light', here is the following chapter. Also, the cover image is dedicated to this chapter, as I've imagined how Reaver might look if he was walking through Bowerstone amidst all the smog and his factories. Took me a while to find this amazing image and I'd of course be willing to take it down should the creator ask, but this chapter is I suppose inspired a little by the image. Anyway, enjoy, and if you've any opinions, do voice them through a review.

_Summary:__ The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? __Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_When Shadows and Darkness Descend_**

**Chapter Two: The Black Seal  
**

As Darius exploring through his drawers and dressed himself that morning, he came across two pairs of underpants amongst a pile that did not belong to him. The two pairs of boxers belonged to Reaver, and Darius' stunned shock at finding them again brought an aching blush to his cheeks.

In changing in the sanctuary whilst in Bloodstone, the underpants must have still been in his pockets when given to Jasper, he realised; and the servants had likely mistaken them for his own when Jasper assisted him yesterday morning in packing his bags for his new home. God only knew what Jasper had thought of him then, carrying underwear in his pockets.

Darius shook his head, chuckling almost madly. If Reaver had known that his boxers were inside the King's bedroom yesterday, he had shown no signs and Darius thought himself lucky that Reaver likely hadn't found them.

Still, if Benjamina desired them, the pairs would fetch a pretty price of a hundred coins each. He noted also that he still held some other clothing that belonged to Reaver from his time on the ship – a shirt, some pants, and a pair of boots. No doubt, Jasper had done a superb job in patching them up.

Darius slipped one of his own pairs on, shut his drawers and continued dressing. Forgoing his kingly attire, he dressed in his male mercenary boots (patched up), the mercenary pair of black trousers, and the black shirt he had burrowed from Reaver (as it was a very fine shirt, indeed).

Not half an hour later, after combing his hair and checking once more upon his still son in his crib, Darius entered the war room with Rylin trailing beside him. On entering, he spotted Walter in his military uniform and a formerly dressed man in white pants and a bright red coat.

"Ah, Your Majesty, it is an honour," greeted the man, bowing so low that his baldhead shined into Darius' eyesight. "I served under your brother's reign, and I hope to offer as much assurance."

"Yes," murmured Darius, unsure of what else he was supposed to say, "…of course."

Walter chuckled.

"Well, I'll be taking my leave now. Having Logan's troops on our side is a good start, but you will need to raise a fortune to pay for the Army we'll need," informed Walter, before turning to the bald-headed man beside him. "We need to prepare, Your Majesty. I'll be inspecting and training Logan's men all day, so I'm afraid I'll have to leave Hobson here to show you your daily agenda."

"Of course, Walter," said Darius. "Have fun training troops."

"Ah, it'll just be like old times," chuckled Walter. "And good luck to you, You Majesty. You'll need it on your first day, I daresay."

Walter strode swiftly from the room, and Darius almost envied him, as he ran his eyes down Hobson's list of duties for the day. With his second task, he noted Reaver apparently had requested his presence in Bowerstone Industrial. He had known that Reaver would desire to speak with him at some point, but he hadn't thought that he'd be needed for several days at the least.

"Ah, the first matter on hand is to inspect the Treasury," announced Hobson, with eagerness unhidden. "If you would follow me, Your Majesty, I shall show you."

Through the door to the left, Darius followed and was met with the sight of a pile of glittering gold in the centre of the room. So small, not insignificant by no means, but Darius knew that he had more gold in the Sanctuary.

"This is it, Your Majesty, Albion's Royal Treasury. The store of the kingdom's total wealth," remarked Hobson, in a sensational tone. "But as you can see, it is almost certainly empty. Yet, can imagine it, my King: shimmering with hills and valleys of gold, reaching to the ceiling."

"I thought Logan had introduced measures to fill it," said Darius.

"I did," came a curled voice from behind. Darius turned, and watched as his brother walked down the stairs with Ben and a second guard at his side. "I did introduce measures to increase the Treasury, but the people would not listen."

"Yeah, because folk can always afford to pay extreme taxes," scorned Ben.

Logan crossed his arms. "I did what was necessary."

Rylin barked gruffly, interrupting them. Their heated eyes turned from one another and onto the dog, who was chasing his tail beside the small pile of gold.

Darius snorted. "That's enough, you two. I'll make sure to increase the Treasury in a year, whatever it takes," he barked, before turning to Hobson. "Now, is there anything more, Hobson?"

"Why, yes, Your Majesty. We must set the tax rate for the coming year. A task that I'm personally very excited about," he announced, with a grinning smile. "And as you probably know, your brother –" he looked upon Logan "- taxed the people rather heavily, and some say this has lead to poverty, starvation, and other societal ills. You have three clear choices, Your Majesty."

"One, to lower the tax rate, which would not doubt help the poor and the hungry but leave our Treasury in a miserable state," he informed. "Two, maintaining Logan's policies. Not a popular move with the people, but moderately favourable to our Treasury. And three, and don't let my enthusiasm influence you in _any_ way, you could raise the taxes even further."

"That's inane," growled Ben. "Do you know how many people would suffer because of higher taxes?"

"And this is why you are a petty soldier," Logan scoffed, before then glancing from Ben to Darius. "It merely comes down to one question, brother. Would you rather some people die of simple social ills or cause the death of thousands due to being unprepared for the coming attack?"

Hobson nodded in agreement. "True, many would suffer due to a tax increase, but we would be able to protect the kingdom and be able to run our fingers over vast amounts of gold in this very room, Your Majesty," he informed, with glittering blue eyes. "So – what shall it be, Your Majesty?"

Darius sighed.

"Maintain Logan's taxation policies," he murmured. "I've seen how things are in Bowerstone lately. Any more increase in taxation and we shan't have any workers left to employ and train as soldiers."

Ben scowled slightly at his answer, but did not object. He could hardly when he had faced the shadows in Aurora, fighting them in streets alongside Walter and Darius.

"Very well, Your Majesty. A most prudent choice – with the revolution, most people are used to the current state of poverty," said Hobson, causing Darius to wince. "I have no doubt that those who will survive shall thank you."

"But you will still need to raise a lot more gold by other means…unless you are willing to donate some of your wealth," he added, with a shrilly chuckle. "Oh, just a little joke on my part, Your Majesty. But nevertheless, you should acquaint yourself with the Royal Legislature."

But Hobson allowed Darius only a moment to spend examining the book on the centre table before he continued on. It seemed simple enough, and Darius refocused his attention.

"…Reaver has a most intriguing proposal, You Majesty. He is awaiting you in Bowerstone Industrial," he informed, and with a knowing smile he continued, "And I know that you have had your differences, but I employ you to place them aside so that you and he may work together. Nobody can raise money like Reaver can, I assure you."

Ben snorted. "That's not all Reaver can get, apparently."

Darius cast him a scowl, repressing the desire to punch the exasperating Captain. Logan looked on at him with frowning, expressions, but Hobson merely chuckled and continued.

"I have seen to it since this morning that your visitation has been well publicised, You Majesty, so expect a overly large crowd waiting to greet their new King."

Darius scoffed. "Great…thanks, Hobson."

"In any case, I shall be remaining here in the castle," informed Logan, as he returned up the stairs. "My mind, I fear, is still reeling from Theresa's news. It is difficult to comprehend."

Darius nodded. He could understand his brother's difficulty.

"I understand, but if it is anything, Logan, I intend on having you retain your strength. If you haven't shown any protest against my rule within the next coming weeks, I'll have some small form of weapon produced for you to practice with," he informed, with a small smile on his lips. "In the coming attack, I can't have you unused to your sword after all, brother."

Logan's mouth fell agape, before he swiftly closed it.

"I did not expect to hold a weapon ever again, in truth," he said. "But you have my thanks…Your Majesty."

Then, Logan departed from the room. Darius bid Hobson farewell and, with the realisation that simply willing himself to Bowerstone Industrial would attract attention, he instead requested a carriage.

The journey was irritating, but nevertheless, Darius spent the half-trip reading a book on curses. He had asked Ben, Page and Walter, as well as requesting Brightwall's librarian, Samuel, to research cures for his son.

Last night, Darius had spent an entire two hours reading before falling asleep in an armchair beside his son, only to continue his research once more on his awake. Yet, he was still no closer to curing Tristan.

Darius exited from his carriage, and stepped out into the smog filled streets of Bowerstone Industrial, coughing only slightly. A crowd, behind lined barriers of ribbons, awaited his presence as he passed by them, and shrilly cheers and screams of "Your Majesty" bombarded his ears.

He waved and quickly made his way to the min factory, hoping that any business Reaver wanted could be over with quickly.

However, on his approach, the threatening, loud voice of Page hit him.

"…Don't tempt me, Reaver. I shot you once, and I will do it again."

Reaver laughed. "Oh, I still get tingles from recalling that day, my dear. But you really should consider my offer – honestly, how could you deny yourself such an impossibly delicious prospect, hmmm?"

Darius scowled, wondering what on Earth they were discussing. Was Reaver offering her sex again? The very idea –

"The same way I deny myself all other repulsive things," she growled. "Now please, _please_, stop talking to me, Reaver."

Shaking his head, smirking and attempting to rid himself of the growing sense of irritation in his chest, Darius stepped forward from around the corner and past the brick-walled entrance. He recalled with a silent frown that this area was in fact the first place he met Reaver, who had shot a protesting worker.

"Ah, Your Majesty, how gracious of you to grant us your radiant presence on this grand morning. And may I so humbly say, your attire is indeed a most ostentatious surprise, but also pleasing to the public eye," voiced Reaver, whose eyes were seemingly sizing Darius up himself. "I commend you on your choice of shirts most of all."

Darius flushed. He had almost forgotten that he'd dressed himself in the same black shirt from his time abroad Reaver's ship. Repressing the idea of Reaver having some sort of possession over him, simply from wearing a shirt of all things, and recalling how Reaver had brought up his offer of what was likely sex to Page, Darius frowned.

"Yes, thank you for compliment," he grated, whilst wishing that Page wasn't present for that surprising compliment, "…although I do not think that we are here to discuss clothes this morning, Reaver."

"Yes, we're not," sighed Page, whilst tapping her foot.

"Indeed, I knew that you would emerge victorious from such public sibling rivalry and here you stand, ready to listen with all your royal degree to our modest wishes," announced Reaver, no doubt for more the public than themselves. "But now, here I am, to assist you in filling your coffers till they are fit to burst – and what better way to begin your reign than by reinstating my most successful policies of all?"

Page snorted. "I wouldn't call enslaving children a success, Reaver," she remarked coldly.

"Ah, ah, yet there is not greater waste than the idleness of our youth, my dear Page. My employment scheme guarantees that children of all ages will have something to occupy them, whilst ensuring that our factories are properly manned."

"That's…it's just monstrous!" burst Page, stamping her foot. "Don't listen to him. You promised that you would end child labour – remember that promise now, my King."

"And what would you have us do with the little snotty little indigents?" asked Reaver, placing a hand on his hip and raising an apparently interested eyebrow.

Darius scowled. He remembered how Reaver had behaved towards Page in the ballroom when they had first met, and he didn't want the white-clothed Industrial tycoon so much as looking at Page. It was like a gnawing feeling in Darius' chest that wanted tear Reaver away from her.

Page crossed her arms, shaking her head at him.

"The only way that Bowerstone is going to climb itself out of the gutter is through education. Nothing is more important to our future than that," she pleaded wisely. "Turn this factory into a school, and give the children of this city the chance they never had."

"A school? Well, that's an original thought," interrupted Reaver in a mocking tone, before setting his gaze on Darius. "If you would like to be known as a pauper monarch, then by all means, listen to her. Reaver Industries will abide by your decision, my beloved King."

Darius ignored the mocking tone that Reaver had used, speaking about his 'beloved King'.

_This is business, the future of our youth_, Darius thought.

"Of course," continued Reaver, "the little tykes do enjoy playing with machinery. Can you really spare them that pleasure?"

Page scowled. "What pleasure is there in getting your fingers sliced off?" she seethed. "You Majesty, your own son – how can you allow him the pleasure of education whilst others are starved of it?"

"Do not bring Tristan into this, Page. Not now," Darius growled, stepping forward and with a cold look in his eyes. "You know what his condition is."

"You are right," she excused. "But think of this morally. I know we must prepare for war, but how can we prepare without our youth knowing that they have a future? Are we to give them only hard work for the rest of their lives?"

Darius sighed. "The factory will become a school…that is my decision," he declared loudly, with his decision met with violent cheers. "But –" the crowd quietened "– there will be set measures on what is studied, and a penny shall be paid each week to support each child's education."

"But what if the parents can't pay or the child is an orphan?" protested Page.

"Then the state shall provide in some way, I will make sure of it, Page," said Darius. "After the attack, education will be made free to all youth ages, but the economy cannot take such a rash measure. It is the only thing I can offer at this time, Page."

"Well, thank you. It is a start, and we can really start changing people's lives now," affirmed Page, with a contented smile. "This shall be an Albion worth fighting for."

Reaver leaned on his cane, chuckling lightly.

"Well, this is a surprisingly interesting point we have arrived at," he said. "Nevertheless, I shall begin the necessary modifications at once."

Darius nodded. "Good, now…I require both of you to ride with me to the castle. We need to discuss the future of the Bowerstone Quarter and it can only be formally agreed upon in the castle's throne room. If you will follow me, Reaver, Page…"

The three of them vacated the factory's entrance and drifted down the outlined barrier towards his carriage, with Reaver swinging his cane along the way. Informing the driver to return to the castle, Darius then climbed inside and waited patiently as Reaver and Page followed wordlessly in.

Sitting opposite him, Reaver hummed. He crossed a leg lazily on top of another and placed his hat on his lap. Meanwhile, Page was observing Darius with sympathetic eyes.

"I was honest before, you know. I am sorry for having brought up your son in our arguments," she said. "But how is Tristan, Darius, really?"

Sighing, Darius placed two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"He doesn't wake nor eat, Page, and I am tired of remembering how powerless I am in helping him. I do not even know if he will not die once he does awake from a lack of nutrition," he bemoaned. "The shadows have not yet contacted me, so I can only guess at what they desire."

"There must be some reason they are holding him. I can fathom what the shadows would want with a snotty young brat," murmured Reaver thoughtfully, "…save that he is the King's beloved son."

"That's another thing, Reaver, I don't appreciate you calling children snotty little brats, indigents, or whatever else you have so far insulted them with," remarked Darius, looking coldly at him. "Please do not do so again in my presence."

"Then I shall endeavour to remember that little sentiment," vowed Reaver, with an amused wink. "After all, one should never wish for the wrath of a King upon them now, should one?"

Darius scoffed.

Page glanced in Reaver's direction with a scrutinising look, and Darius felt that rising burst of irritation over their prior conversation to his arrival once more.

"In any case," Darius continued, gaining their attention, "Logan has yet to see Tristan. After our talk on Bowerstone Quarter in the throne room, I plan on showing him his nephew."

Reaver hummed. "I am sure Logan will only be too thrilled by your…entrusted faith in your sibling."

Darius ignored the hidden agenda within Reaver's remark. He would have, not only himself to watch over Logan and his son, but also the guards posted to observe Logan's actions. With no less than three armed persons present nearby, any aggressive move Logan could possibly make would be idiotic.

"Have you discovered anything about what the shadows have done to my son?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Darius, Tristan's state is so peculiar – and there are so little books on the shadows – that I've had problems learning anything," said Page. "All I've discovered is what we already know: that the shadows are creatures born from people's desires, and so aren't to be crossed without expecting payment in return. Whatever happened to your son, it's payment for something."

Reaver remained silent. Darius wanted to think he was to blame for his son's predicament, because he truly was in every essence, but Darius also knew that the mysterious Seal that he kept in his pocket.

"This Seal – do you two perhaps recognise it at all?"

Reaver's eyes grew wide. "Is that – Your Majesty, I think you must excuse me…I must leave you this instant, I fear." Reaver tapped the side of the carriage with his cane, bringing the horses to a stop along one of Bowerstone Industrial's lanes.

"Reaver, there is still the old Quarter to discuss at the castle," barked Page. "You cannot leave now."

"Oh, I do loathe to leave the King's presence, be assured of that, Page," he said. "No doubt, I would've convinced him to leave that pitiful place of a living space that you call a Quarter to rust. But as it is, I am afraid I must entrust one of my advisors to take my place and argue my standpoint in this matter."

Darius' eyes narrowed sharply.

"Reaver, as your _beloved_ King, I demand that you tell me of what is so important that you would forgo a meeting with the Crown."

"Oh, but that would ruin all the fun of you guessing," he snickered. "Tatty-bye, my King."

Reaver kissed Darius' hand delicately before climbing off the carriage steps, tapping the door as he closed it. As Darius watched him walk back towards Bowerstone once more, clanking his cane as he walked, he was reluctant to admit that he was a bit peeved.

"Okay," came Page's irritated voice, "…care to inform me what all that hand kissing was about…and what you said to him about you being his beloved King? I mean, _beloved_ – of all things?"

Darius groaned, and clambered back into his seat like a fuming drunken man, whose last ale had just been split on the ground.

"I had meant to mention it to you at some point, but I guess it just didn't seem all that important with revolution and all," admitted Darius, shrugging lightly. "Ben already knows, although he hasn't been as quiet as I would've liked about it."

Page snorted. "All right – so Ben already knows what, exactly?"

"During our journey to Bloodstone, Reaver and I became…intimate, you could say, with one another," confessed Darius, thinking back on how Reaver had unconsciously redressed himself whilst Ben had slept on and the numerous other occasions they had been in each other's presence. "We're not, nothing like that, but…"

"Bu you still bloody want that child-enslaving son of bitch," grated Page, sitting back in her seat with her head in her hands. She groaned, "…Of all the things to have occurred, a pirate attack or even Ben's death would have been better to learn of than hearing that you've been _intimate_ with Reaver."

"Oi! It's nothing as far as what you're thinking," he said. "We haven't had intercourse, and you know I wouldn't trust Reaver as far as I could throw him…which would actually be pretty far, I suppose, given I'm a Hero," he imagined, with a light chuckle. "Forget the last part actually, but you should know that I still don't trust him."

"Good," she bemoaned. "And just make sure you remember that before letting that bastard anywhere near your bed."

"I know what I'm doing, Page," he grated, growing irritated by her mistrust of him. "I am King, after all. Reaver wouldn't do anything stupid to warrant a king's wrath, as he said."

She scoffed. "We don't even know what he's up to right now."

Darius didn't reply. They had reached the castle's entrance by now, and anything more would be only speculative. However, as he trailed up the stairs to enter the throne room, his blue eyes glanced over to Reaver's space and found it already filled.

In Reaver's place stood an advisor, a boorish man who seemed to have read far too many legal books in his lifetime. He did not have that air of enjoyment for enterprise that Reaver seemed to possess, and as he finished telling the Crown of Reaver's plans to simply let the Quarter alone, Darius had to repress a sigh of boredom.

In the end, he promised Page to renew the Quarter. Although Darius highly doubted that Reaver could have even convinced him otherwise, listening to man's expressive voice about the subject would have pleased him. Currently, however, the revolution had impacted Bowerstone Quarter most of all, and he knew it was more or less his duty now to repair it.

The advisor informed His Majesty that he would return to Reaver's mansion with the news at once, and that Reaver Industries would begin the renewal of the old Quarter within a week.

With the Crown's duties having finished for the day, although Darius knew that later he and Reaver's advisors would have to come to an agreement on how the main factory in Industrial and the old Quarter would be renewed, Darius called upon a servant to request that Logan join in his room.

That evening, Logan and he discussed the past year. It was sombre evening, one only ventured into by the force of wine and some pleasant memories, but it was necessary.

Logan was pleased to see that he had a nephew in any case, and spoke to him fondly. It was a sweet sight, but one that hadn't lasted long. Leaning over Tristan's crib, and looking over his shoulder in his guards' direction, Logan then turned back and sighed.

"You have been through much, brother," muttered Logan, sounding almost dejected. "I did not want you to ever see Aurora…to ever experience the darkness. It is a thing you do not wish even on your most hated enemies."

Darius nodded, understanding perfectly. He hadn't wanted Tristan to witness anything in connection with his dealings, and now he had become the centre of it all.

"When I went to Aurora, Kalin said that you had been there four years ago," Darius enquired, despite knowing that he was venturing into Logan's personal emotions and past experiences with the darkness. "What was it like – when you met them, I mean?"

"The crawler disposed of all my men. Everyone but myself died in that desert," sneered Logan, before consuming another glass of wine. He snorted, "When I awoke, I found this beside my bed."

From his pocket, Logan produced a rounded object covered by a small piece of cloth. Unfolding it, he produced a black Seal. No patterns, no other colours to decipher its meaning, the Seal was darkness in its whole essence – and no doubt, it had served as a bleak reminder to Logan for many a year since his venture, Darius guessed.

"Kalin informed me after I awoke in her Temple that they had discovered me with the Seal laid upon my body, on my chest," he murmured, clutching it with a hateful grasp. "And I have not been capable of throwing it away…I haven't the willpower to do so."

"Don't throw it," whispered Darius. "I have something similar, and so does Reaver actually. Whatever the Seals are, they're given to us for a reason."

"Yes, I think I can your reasoning," said Logan.

From his pocket, Darius brought out the two Seals: the Guild and the Light Seal, which had protected him against the shadows. A guards' hand twitched towards his pistol as Logan reached out, grazing his fingertips over the Guild Seal.

The Guild Seal lit up, glowing a bright golden hue. Logan extracted his fingers away.

"The Guild Seal supposedly only responds to one who's a Hero," said Darius.

Logan nodded; he appeared apprehensive about the entire thing, and Darius could hardly blame his brother. Heroes were only legends that they had read in books, after all. They had never known one before all of this, and now Darius could say that he knew at least three.

"I did not believe Theresa at first, but indeed, it does appear to be true," whispered Logan, before consuming the remainder of his glass. His gaze ran over the second Seal, "…I think I recall mother passing that one down to you."

"Although this Seal protected me at one point, it has also lead to my son being influenced by the shadows," he said. "It might react to you, though, as well. If you would care to touch it?"

With seemingly more caution, Logan outstretched his hand and laid his fingertips on the Seal's smooth edge. A light grew from the Seal, overwhelming their sight. When Darius' could finally see and the light was diminishing, he saw Logan hissing in pain beside him and his fingers burning.

The guards were trained on Logan with weapons drawn, and Darius threw a weary glance their way.

"Stand down…he's fine," he barked, noting then they swiftly followed his orders. He turned to his brother, "Logan – are you – what was that?"

"No, I am fine, brother. But I should not have touched that Seal," reassured Logan. "As you have seen, mine is darkness. It was a foolish prospect, one I should have realised."

"But I have laid my hands on other Seals without problems," grated Darius in anger, "…Come, give me your Seal.

"Darius, you can't –"

"Now, Logan, as King I command it."

Logan narrowed his gaze. "Very well," he conceded, and brought out the Black Seal once more. "But I was merely looking out for your health, let it be noted."

"Noted," Darius murmured.

Rather than simply graze his fingertips, Darius, sparing a second's apprehension, seized a hold of the Dark Seal…and it did nothing. No light, no shadows – nothing occurred, and that frightened Darius more than any other possibility.

"It would appear that you have also been touched by darkness, brother," murmured Logan, with weary eyes cast over the guards, who fortunately appeared not to have heard. "But in any case, I should leave you now. It is late and my guards seem to be growing restless."

"I – of course," replied Darius, yet with a solemn, tired nod. "Goodnight, Logan."

"Yes…goodnight, Darius."

But rather than begin to dress himself once Logan had departed from his bedroom, thoughts of how the darkness had touched him still continued on in his mind and Darius knew that he couldn't dwell in his bedroom.

In the end, knowing that he could gain both a walk and two hundred coins by simply handing over Reaver's garments to Benjamina, he called for Walter. Snatching Reaver's unmentionables from his drawers and placing them in his pocket, Darius watched as his old tutor entered his room.

Walter, although reluctant and questioning him, agreed to watch over Tristan for an hour whilst Darius went into Bowerstone on some business.

Willing himself into Bowerstone's Market, he arrived at her house just before midnight and knocked. She came to the down, and seeing the undergarments, practically snatched them from his grasp.

"Oh, here's the money, and a little extra for being such a good friend and sneaking in for me," she laughed, tossing him a purse of coins. "Thank you so much! Now I have the complete collection…"

The fan wandered back into her house, giggling and talking incessantly as she went. Darius simply shook his head and pocketed the purse.

As he walked away, he pondered on her obsessive attitude over Reaver.

_She might have all those things, but I've got the real thing._

/***\

A sharp knocking came upon his door that night as he slept.

"Enter," he groaned sharply.

The door clicked open and a young girl, dressed in servant's clothing and with her hair tied up in a bun, appeared through the small crack.

"Your Majesty, Master Reaver is here and has requested to meet with you in the war room," informed the servant. "Shall I instruct him to come at a more appropriate time?"

"No…inform him that I shall only be a few moments," said Darius, as he threw off the covers. "Have him wait in war room until then."

_He can wait, too,_ he thought, _it's about time he waited on me rather than have me coming to him. The arrogant sod…_

He dressed himself with certain care, not wanting to appear as if he had been bed ridden to any of the servants or other persons that were working at this late hour. With Rylin by his side, he departed from his bedroom and made for the war room, hoping that Reaver had some excuse for waking the King at nearing three in the morning.


	3. Of Discrepancies and Liberties

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Can I just say how much I adore this title: so short, and yet so sweet. I shall try to update this story weekly, although it may be a few days out at time due to work. Anyway, I know this has been a long time coming, but here's some good ol' smutt. Yet, are such discrepancies worth the trouble that they cause the King? And how will Darius raise a fortune? All in good time, folks ;) 18/07/14: Chapter slightly edited after realising some parts were not up to scratch. Never say I'm not dedicated.

_Summary:__ The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? __Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_When Shadows and Darkness Descend_**

**Chapter Three: Of Discrepancies and Liberties **

As Darius entered the war room, he instantly spotted Reaver, standing beside the map and gazing down upon its regions with heated eyes.

"Close the doors," he instructed directly, without so much as a glancing up from the map. "Make sure they are closed entirely, Your Majesty…we cannot have any common peeping Tom overhearing us."

Darius did he was asked, but frowned when he turned to see Reaver slowly approaching him.

"Reaver – what is this all about?" he asked pointedly.

"Show me your Seal again," he demanded, with his blue eyes aflame. "Show me it."

Darius unwrapped the Light Seal from his pocket and passed the strange rounded device into one of Reaver's outstretched hands.

Almost instantly, Reaver's mouth fell agape. A burst of light sparkled, and then shone from the Seal, attacking Reaver, whose body began to emit a shadowy mist, similar to that aura which had taken a hold of Tristan.

"Reaver!" shouted Darius, stepping forward and seized Reaver's shoulders with force.

The man was driven to his knees, groaning and trembling beneath Darius' hold. For the first few moments, Reaver's eyes remained squeezed shut and his lips pulled in, ceasing any more screams.

"Reaver – speak to me," Darius ordered sharply, shaking him. "_Tell me what to do!_"

He fell onto all fours, but practically collapsed onto his front as his palms were still gripping the Seal.

"Take it…from me," he gasped through gritted teeth. "Take it!"

Darius snatched the Light Seal from his hands and returned it swiftly to his pocket, leaving Reaver to collapse forwards onto his elbows and knees, panting. Darius dropped down to his knees and placed a cautious arm on his shoulder.

"Reaver," he murmured softly, "…are you all right?"

Reaver coughed, and stood to his feet with a weary, yet trained style of proficiency. His sweaty brow and slowing exhales were the only indicators of the previous incident.

Darius followed and stood as well, as Reaver began to speak again, though in a far gruffer tone than before.

"That is a Seal of Light, and it belongs to you, and only you," he informed. "It would seem that, as my Seal was given to me by the Shadows, yours was passed down, with not only your mother's wishes, but also with blessings from the Light."

"Why tell me this, Reaver?"

"Because it is they who would be best at protecting your son, my King. Tell no one about the Seals," he added, approaching Darius cautiously until his lips were beside his earlobe, "…I believe the Shadows are yet even now extracting the life force from your son. But if you would place your Seal around his neck, their hold may be broken."

"Fine, Reaver. We'll try it," said Darius, "but if anything happens to my son, I'll know exactly who to blame."

He scoffed. "Yes, yes, fire and brimstone, and all those other lovely tortures that you'll no doubt hound me with if anything were to happen to your darling _Tristan_ boy."

"At least you remember his name, that's something," murmured Darius, snorting lightly before turning to the doors. "But come on, then. Let's see if this Seal keeps the shadows away from my son."

Reaver clanked his cane against the metallic map, gaining his attention once more.

"There is one more thing, my King," he addressed. "This…protection, shall we call it, it will not last. The Shadows' strength _is_ increasing, if you recall me mentioning before –"

"Then I will seek out my mother's fabled Temple of Light, just as I found the Darkness in Aurora and how you sent me to the Court of Shadows in Wraithmarsh," said Darius. "I will find some way to gain protection for myself and my son, and when I have achieved that, then you may have your boon."

"The old Queen's Temple lies in ruins in a little dull haven known as Oakville, which is to the north. Her Majesty ventured there often, but I have personally only travelled that through that bug-infested, dull heathen once," said Reaver.

Darius nodded. "Then we shall go there, as soon as my absence can be allowed."

"One would almost think that you had a craving for adventuring," remarked Reaver. "Surely, Your Majesty, your kingly duties must keep you revitalised enough from such a trip?"

"I'm not sure revitalised would be the word I'd use," said Darius. "Hobson's humour is enough to dry any excitement away from my duties."

Reaver snickered. "Ah, that little trouncing trollop," he snickered. "Still, at least you have some hope in attaining your desired funding now. Hobson does have a gold-finger, or so I have been informed."

Shaking his head in silent laughter, Darius urged, "Come on, Reaver."

Curious eyes looked on as the industrialist followed the King into the Royal bedroom, and Darius was all too aware that there would be whisperers among the Court tomorrow.

Yet, gathering the Seal that hung on a necklace from his pocket, he ventured through to his son's room and stopped short. Leaning over Tristan's bed was a Shadow, which had seemingly intended on picking up the boy, before its evil form now decidedly turned to face Darius with a sneering laugh.

Instantly, Darius' hand launched to his hip, unsheathed the Black Dragon and fired a bullet into the Shadow's snarling mouth. The Shadow shrieked as its misty essence dispersed into thin, clear air.

Darius also noted that Reaver was standing quietly outside the room, just beyond the curtains that closed off Tristan's door to his own bedroom.

"They're trying to take my son," Darius stated, as he returned his gun to its holster. "Why now, of all times?"

"You are trying to guess the thoughts of the Shadow Judges?" tisked Reaver mockingly. "Perhaps they know of your Light Seal, perhaps they simply desire to have your son…there are countless reasons that could be imagined."

"Fine," grated Darius, "…don't be helpful, then. I was merely asking."

With slow movements, Darius delicately placed the necklace on his son's chest. The surrounding aura of shadowy greyness around Tristan began to clear. A woeful moan passed through his lips, his eyes squeezed shut and then flickered open, and his tiny fingers quivered above his blue blanket.

"He's awake," gasped Darius, his eyes trained on his son and following his movements. "He's actually awake," he repeated, although sounding more asserted this time.

"And no doubt, he shall again be weeping and spewing filth in no time," reminded Reaver, with a light sneer gracing his lips. "My, how pleasant youth can be."

Darius ignored him in favour of his son. "Gods, he must be starving," he whispered, before departing to order a servant to bring forth two bottles of milk from the kitchens with all quickness.

"Want to hold him, Reaver?" asked Darius.

Reaver chortled. "Your Highness, though I am certainly well versed in the art of _producing_ children, I have to my knowledge never sired one and I am certainly not a nursemaid, caring for any spit-spewing – ah, babes," he corrected swiftly, on seeing the King's heated glare.

Darius rolled his eyes. "Before Tristan, I would have agreed with that statement about myself, but then I came to care more for him than any woman or man in the kingdom," he said. "In any case, you've my thanks, Reaver, for giving me my son back."

A moment later and a knock came upon the bedroom doors. Darius retrieved the bottle from the young servant boy and returned to his son's chambers, where then he began feeding him in the armchair.

Later, allowing his son to sleep in the crib, Darius followed Reaver into his bedroom and towards the doors.

"Thank you for your aid, Reaver. I don't think I would have guessed soon enough to save him that the Seal serves as a protection," he said. "But I have to ask, where'd you learn all of this?"

Reaver leaned forward on his cane, smirking idly.

"Ah, I confess, I have known for some time now that Seals provide their bearers most profitable skills," he said. "My own Seal, as I have learned over the course of my long and exciting life, has the tendency to assist me in deceiving others, but at the cost…of losing one's self, may we say. If you recall, it was the Shadow Judges who inflicted it upon me."

"Wait…was that what happened in the cellar beneath the whorehouse, then?" asked Darius, stepping forward. Reaver stood up from his cane, his eyes sharply narrowing, but Darius pressed on, "You lost yourself to the Seal, didn't you?"

"The woman was lax in noticing my presence, yes," he growled.

"Okay, but I'm not asking about her, Reaver," he said. "I'm asking if you lost _yourself_, because you looked like you wanted to shoot me. Hell, you shot one of the owner's girls on your way out."

Reaver chuckled. "Oh, well I never realised that every time I have killed I was in fact claimed by some mystical Seal of power. My, that does sound like a good excuse…a tad eccentric, but what isn't every little thing in this day and age?"

Darius snorted, and approached him further, to jab a finger into Reaver's perfectly white-coated chest.

He gazed up. "I'm not saying the Seal influenced you when shooting the whore," he seethed, becoming irritated by Reaver's evasion. "What I'm saying is that, down in the cellar when Formosa was attacking us, you lost control."

Reaver's lips snarled. "I was mistaken in telling you…I never lose control," he spat.

A daring look adorned Reaver's eyes, and Darius seized him by the shoulders and shoved him against the door. Reaver laughed as the door creaked against its hinges, and Darius stepped forward.

A seething rage enveloped his heart, a want for answers from the man who would never willingly give them.

"You were surrounded by a shadowy aura, Reaver," he growled, pocking a finger into his chest again. "It was like you were becoming a shadow itself! You may not admit it, but I know it to be true."

Reaver seized the King by his upper arms and span them, shoving Darius into the doors. Darius' vision blurred as his head bumped against the wood, and he grunted.

As Reaver stepped angrily forwards to press against him, their bodies – chests and thighs – touched, and whether accidentally or not, Reaver's presence overwhelmed his very senses.

"You know nothing about me," spat Reaver darkly.

Darius wanted to reply. He wanted to fight, but instead, he groaned and thumped his head back against the door. It was too much – Reaver's breath on his neck, given that the blasted man was a few inches taller than him, and how he could even feel the slightest press of Reaver's hardened cock between his muscled thighs.

"I know more than you think," he mouthed, daringly against Reaver's neck.

Perhaps it was simply his imagination, but Darius swore that Reaver's hips jutted forwards. Reaver tightened his grip on his forearms and leaned forwards.

He hummed lightly. "Why, is this how you address all your humble subjects, Your Majesty?" Reaver taunted, snickering and chest rumbling at the movement. "

Darius scowled.

"Shut up, Reaver."

The man didn't have time to retort – Darius didn't let him. Pulling Reaver forward by the shoulders, Darius attacked his lips. He bit savagely at his lower lip before kissing him full on, and was only a tad surprised when Reaver's lips began to brush heatedly in turn against his own.

Their hands moved from pressing against each other's chests and shoulders to gain stronger holds and seek out skin. Darius diverted a hand to clutch at the back of his neck, caressing the pale skin. His hair was so soft – softer than Darius could recall from their time on the ship.

Thoughts of their previous encounter ran through his mind, and Darius groaned. Slowly, Reaver had slipped his fingers under the collar of his shirt, and now was running them across his skin. His other hand was playing dangerously against his hip; his thumb stroking idly over clothed skin.

"Always so tense, my King," he whispered against his ear.

Trapped between the wall and Reaver's muscled form pressing against him, his control gradually slipped from him. But the anger remained, an abating maddening rage to know Reaver.

"I will get –" a brush of the lips "– the truth from you, Reaver," growled Darius, and shoved the man away, causing him to stumble back in the direction towards the bed. "The shadows have a hold upon you, too. That aura and your Seal made it clear."

"Oh, one could almost imagine that you cared from that remark," Reaver chuckled, as Darius stepped forward and ran a finger over Reaver's swollen lips.

That remark almost caught Darius off guard, but he was rarely caught off these days; and besides, he didn't care for Reaver. His mind, overrun by the image of Reaver standing so tantalisingly in front of him, shirt ripped, hair messed and red-lipped, could hardly grasp anything more than pure lust.

Darius scoffed, and trailed his finger from Reaver's lips down to pock at his chest.

"Don't _imagine_ things that don't exist, Reaver," he retorted, though the sentiment seemed half-true even to him. "I'm merely thinking about how their hold on you will affect us all in the long run."

Reaver's hand seized his clothed cock and squeezed, and Darius keeled and grabbed hold of Reaver's shoulder to keep his balance.

"The Shadows are not influencing my actions now, my King," he chuckled, "…nor will they ever."

"Arrogant bastard," breathed Darius.

They kissed furiously, hands frolicking across each other's bodies, caressing and scraping, until Darius became impatient. As he caressed the smooth, pale skin of Reaver's hipbone, imagining in some other circumstance that he could bite the muscled area, he banished the possessive thought away and began to unlace Reaver's trousers, with his hand brushing over Reaver's cock.

Reaver groaned, and shoved Darius by the arms to stumble, with his back thumping and head banging against a wooden bedpost. Reaver strode forwards and his lips nipped at Darius' lips before proceeding south, biting and kissing about his jaw and neck, whilst his hands stealthily unlaced Darius' trousers.

They came loose, and Reaver chuckled hoarsely. It seemed his voice had grown deeper, rougher, in the passing few moments.

"Tut, tut. No undies beneath, how very ill-bred of you," he said.

"You came here at three in the morning, Reaver," he rebuked, as the man's hand seized his swollen cock, "…what did you bloody expect – a ruddy dress show? I hardly think any of my companions, especially Ben Finn, would've respected such an idea. Likely would've laughed."

Reaver hummed against his neck. His breathy chuckles caused Darius to shiver.

"Well, whilst I simply delight in such a show of patriarchy, I'd loath to share such an exhibition," he seethed darkly. "And I digress from the opportunity that has been so exquisitely presented here…"

Reaver's hands left his laces and ripped the shirt, with buttons flying, from Darius' shoulders. Reaver immediately made for his left nipple, taking it softly between his teeth to bite and lick.

"Mine," he whispered, so softly that Darius thought he'd imagined the caressing tone.

Darius groaned, and panted out, "What did you say?"

Reaver ignored him. His lips then moved to bite and caress his right nipple, and Darius' frown instantly turned into a moan that echoed across the very bedroom. Yet weary of his son in the adjoining room, he experienced a momentary lapse of embarrassment.

But Reaver's hands moved to grip his clothed arse, and any discomfort hence fled from him. Darius ran his hands through Reaver's hair and tugged him upwards, kissing him unwaveringly.

"Taking too long," he growled.

Darius pulled Reaver's shirt from him, throwing it to the ground and kissed at his neck. He caressed the man's arms, feeling the flexed muscles beneath before shoving him hard onto the bed.

Reaver huffed, but Darius crawled over him, kissing his flat stomach. Cock straining in his trousers, Darius daringly bit the Hero of Skill's left hipbone. The man jutted up beneath him, groaning, and caught his neck with a gripping palm.

"I am becoming impatient man, Your Majesty," he seethed.

Purposeful or not, Darius bit down on his lips as Reaver grabbed a firm hold of his dick and pulled gently. He returned the gesture swiftly, sweeping Reaver's trousers down his legs, unwilling to allow Reaver to wank him without returning the deed.

He had only seen Reaver's dick once before, and now, red and angry from a lack of touch, but smooth to his palm, Darius thought it certainly a mouth-watering sight. He thrust the organ hard in his palm, wanting to see Reaver undone beneath him.

The Hero of Skill groaned when Darius adjusted his grip. His cock was pulsing in Reaver's hand, but the man wouldn't go faster. He keened above Reaver, thighs tensing and relaxing, eyes watering, and yet still Reaver wouldn't quicken his pace.

"Reaver, no, you bastard – _faster_!"

"As His Majesty commands," came his smug reply.

Reaver's hand ripped the orgasm from him. Darius viciously squeezed his bottom lip between his teeth, knowing that blood would likely be drawn but unwilling to say Reaver's name. He quickened his hand, squeezing tightly, and Reaver came halfway into Darius' own orgasm and pulled him down to meet to meet his lips in a violent kiss.

Darius fell to lie upon Reaver' chest from exhaustion and sensual overload. Reaver snickered at the King's behaviour, but glaring up, Darius' blue eyes silenced him. They lay there; Reaver moved his hands beneath his head to take on a more relaxed posture, but only after for some moments more did Darius then sit up and stare down at the Hero of Skill.

"You should leave," Darius whispered, despite his hands were still idly drawing invisible patterns on Reaver's arms. "The sun shall be rising soon, and my servants will be here."

Reaver frowned beneath him.

"And what if I requested another round with His Majesty?" he prodded, with a small smirk replacing the momentary uncertain look. "Would you refuse me such?"

"This cannot lead to what you want, Reaver," said Darius. "You stand to gain from our deal anyway. Unless you seek to wed your King, however, and I won't have anyone who is not monogamous, if not for my kingdom then for having a past of cheating exes, then this cannot continue."

"What if I did desire to propose to you, what you say?"

"Then I would inform you that you're inane," said Darius, turning his head from Reaver's chest to look up. "You despise children, you dislike my companions, and your only honourable trait is that you are capable of providing aid, although that's only when it suits you."

He snorted. "Perhaps you are right…perhaps."

Ignoring Reaver's relaxed form, Darius rose from the bed. Using the washbasin on the bedside table, he cleaned himself as Reaver lay idly upon the bed, staring with his sinfully blue eyes. Grinning, Darius playfully flung the wet cloth across onto Reaver's chest, splattering droplets across him and the bed.

Darius' breath hitched as Reaver's eyebrow perked. Were it not for the dirty cloth, his posture seemed almost godly. Turning, Darius went to organise himself some clothes.

But no sooner had he turned then Reaver approached him, with his wet chest and cock pressing against his back.

Lips kissed his neck; hands ran over his hips; and, to his surprise, Reaver caught his face with the wet cloth, dragging it across and laughing behind him. Reaver stepped away as Darius turned, wet-faced, narrow-eyed, and holding the cloth between his fingers.

It was some minutes, and only after a second round of playful revenge and heated kissing, before the men dressed themselves. Darius returned Reaver's black shirt and trousers that he had kept since the incident on the ship, and Reaver dressed himself with some haste.

Wrapping the pyjama cord around his waist, Darius observed Reaver as he pulled on his boots. The air had grown tense in the silence; forgoing questioning Reaver once more, Darius settled onto the bed and watched Reaver walk towards the doors.

"I'm sure I don't have to show you the way out of the castle," said Darius, "…or do I?"

"No, Your Majesty. I bid you a pleasant night," he murmured stoically.

"Yes," he whispered, "…and to you, Reaver."

Reaver departed swiftly from the room, with a solemn bow and his cane clicking against the carpet, as if his intentions were to escape. Darius closed the doors and leaned against them. He still felt Reaver's breath against his neck, the lasting hot touch of the man's lips on his, and the muscled chest that had lain against him on the bed.

Darius called for a bath. It would be late into the night by now, but hopefully the calming sensations of the warm water might relax his yet still heightened and wanton senses.

/***\

The following morning, awake before the attending servant came to change his camber pot and gather his unclean clothes from yesterday, Darius fed his son again. He hadn't dared to let him out of his sight since Reaver's late night visitation.

He couldn't regret what had happened last night, for his mind continued to replay Reaver's breaths and gasps, but Darius knew that anything more was unlikely to happen. Reaver wasn't the committed type for long relationships, and Darius had enough of them in the past two years. Also, a large aspect of his life revolved around Tristan, and anyone Darius decided on having in his life permanently would have to like children.

Thus, Darius tossed Reaver from his mind. He had enjoyed their night together, but Darius didn't want anything more from him.

Rather than contemplate their night together further, Darius swiftly dressed himself the next morning and departed for the war room, in seek of speaking to Hobson.

"You know, it almost breaks one's heart to see the Treasury so empty," remarked Hobson curtly, as Darius entered the Treasury. "If we do not fill it soon, we shall all die, and I have some very definitive retirement plans."

"Yes, well…I shall be donating some of my own wealth today," said Darius. "I've plenty enough and I would hardly be able to spend it if Albion is overcome by this coming evil now, will I?"

"You are the eon of benevolence," complimented Hobson, though perhaps more out of politeness than agreement. His smile turned into a slight toothy grin, "But one must ask, does His Majesty intend upon marrying sometime during this coming year? There have been rumours plaguing the Court all morning about a certain Reaver…"

"Hobson, when I desire your advice on things other than the financial issues of the kingdom, I shall ask for it," snapped Darius. "For now, keep your opinions to yourself."

"A spouse would raise moral, Your Majesty," advised Hobson.

"No…no, absolutely no marriage shall be happening anytime soon," said Darius.

Hobson nodded. "As you wish, my King, but personal mistakes will affect the people," he pointed out obstinately. "Remember, they trust the royalty to always act on their behalf. Any _discrepancies_ on your part shall undermine your influential weight as a leader."

Darius sighed. "Understood, Hobson. Just get to the agenda for today."

The Advisor's grin slipped from his face with a momentary cough, and he pressed on.

"Although that we have discussed the prospect of marriage, there is still the matter of our second task for today to discuss, as the Royal Guard Budget must be decided upon," he instructed, "…and you have three options. You can raise the budget, increasing the people of Albion's safety but spending a rather considerable large sum from the Treasury; keep Logan's policies, which would no doubt cause the high theft rates to persist but allow our Treasury to remain unchanged; or simply, you could lower the Guard Budget, for what is the point of peace among the populace when we are faced with certain annihilation in the coming year?"

Hobson handed the King a parchment of paper, which had all the financial details of how each option would affect the Treasury.

Currently, they held only a rudimentary sum of 300, 000 in the Treasury. By increasing or decreasing this year's Guard Budget, they would either gain 200, 000 or lose 200, 000. The sums made Darius' head spin at their vast amounts and possible consequences, but after minutes of thoughtful pondering he managed to finally arrive at a decision.

"The people are in need of a raise in morale, you say – increase the guards, then," responded Darius. "I am sick myself of running into mercenaries all the time."

"Your Majesty, by decreasing the Treasury, we will only have 100, 000 of the kingdom's wealth left," remarked Hobson, whose bottom lip was plumping out prudently. "The people may be delighted, but will they thank you when they are dead? Unless we all turn into some form of foul mutation…oh, that won't be what will happen, will it?"

Darius scoffed. "No, Hobson, I'm pretty sure that won't happen. And as to our wealth decreasing," he continued, "after I am done donating with the royal financial legislature, this Treasury will be more overflowing than before. Now…if you will leave me to do so, I would be much obliged, Hobson."

"Of course," he murmured, with a low bow. His eyes were positively gleaming at the aspect of more gold now. "I shall be awaiting to press on with our agenda in the war room, my King."

Hobson left, and Darius leaned over the legislature to think how much he believed would be adequate to add to the Treasury at the present moment. After a few moments, and deciding that much would be needed for the coming week, he deposited a large amount and closed the book.

Calling for Hobson, the imp-ish man returned obediently, with the daily schedule list at hand. Darius took it once more and read the second item, which simply read as: 'Decorating the Castle'.

"As you can see, you have a busy day in the court, but a tremendously enjoyable one," said Hobson. "Decoration is a passion of mine, and I simply cannot wait to see your choice. The interior designers await your arrival in the throne room."

The day drew on lazily, with Darius spending much of his time on the royal throne. Compared to the adventuring he partook in each day before becoming King, this was quite easy.

But came the afternoon, Darius received an unplanned guest. It was Kalin, and she seemed slightly perkier than before, and with Reaver following closely behind on her. Whispers surged among the gathered citizens of the court as the two approached and stood at either ends of the throne.

"You may speak," addressed Darius politely.

"I have come to discuss the fate of my people, the Auroran people, Your Highness," said Kalin. "I am here to seek the protection that you promised."

Reaver chuckled. "And I have adorned myself here to dispute this supposed promise, providing Albion with a more profitable solution."

"You may each state your proposals, and then the King shall make his decision," announced Walter, more formally to the court. "Kalin, you may begin with your case; Reaver shall then dispute it."

"Too long have the Auroran people faced the darkness alone, without aid," voiced Kalin. "We were honoured to join your fight to claim Albion, but now it is time that we joined your kingdom. Do what your brother failed to do. Help us to rebuild Aurora, and protect as you would your own land."

Reaver hummed. "There is nothing so noble as embracing other cultures, and I for one would only be too happy to count Aurora as part of Albion," he motioned pleasantly, although with his voice laced with an indifferent business tone.

Were he to forgo formality, Darius could have snorted.

"But surely they must work for the privilege, and I happen to know how to put them to good service," said Reaver. There is an Auroran mine in the abandoned desert that holds enough materials to benefit the whole kingdom. So, let us employ Kalin and her people to gather what resources there may be – that can be their payment."

Kalin's fists clenched and her head turned to Reaver.

"You are talking about forced labour!" she seethed.

Reaver waved a dismissive arm. "Well, let us not get bogged down in semantics now. It is a fair transaction."

Enflamed, Kalin seemed about to attack the man.

"I know you will not break your oath. You have seen what we have been through," she pleaded. "Do not turn your back on us now, Your Majesty – we need your aid to survive."

Walter sighed. "The choice is yours, Your Majesty," he concurred.

"I will keep my promise," declared Darius. "Aurora will become part of Albion, and its people will be our equals in every way."

"The King has spoken," announced Walter, turning towards the court. "Aurora shall be rebuilt, and it's people shall have equality

Kalin bowed low, and smiled until her tattooed cheeks were seemingly blushing.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. You have proven to be a man of honour, and Aurora is proud to stand at your side."

"The court shall now rest," motioned Walter.

"A most brave decision, Your Majesty. Aurora might have proven to be a profitable resource, but I am sure we shall find other ways to fill our pockets," said Hobson.

Darius simply shook his head. He was tired of hearing petitions to the crown and didn't really want to argue his actions with others. In fact, he wanted an adventure; he needed to find the Temple of Light. The idea had plagued his mind all morning, but could he truly leave the crown behind?

"Hobson, if I were on business, who would be my appointed regent?"

"Why, the court, Your Majesty," answered Hobson. "When your brother was away on business, the task fell to the court to judge, with Reaver's suggestions being accounted for of course. After all, he is the leading man for financial industries of today."

"Right, of course he is," remarked Darius hotly. "Well, I shall be embarking on an expedition shortly, and Reaver, Logan and Ben will be all coming with me. Walter, Page and you, Hobson, will govern in my absence."

Hobson bowed low.

"You Majesty," he said, "it is an honour."

Darius snorted. "Well, I have no doubt that – together – you can act as my Council whilst I am away. Page can act as a voice for the people, Walter as a Commander over Albion's Army, and you through your role as Royal Advisor to the Treasury. Any agreements made must be signed by you all."

"Perfectly understood," Hobson replied, "…and will you be making your expedition sometime soon perhaps, may one ask? All for our daily agenda's sake, of course, since I shouldn't like to overlap any important personal duty of your noble King's. "

"Within the next few passing days, Hobson. I intend upon leaving as soon as I have notified Logan, Ben and Reaver, and also packed my son's things," he answered, and continued upon seeing Hobson perk up an interested eyebrow. "Yes, my son shall be travelling with me again. I am not sure if you have heard, but he is awake and I am taking him outside the castle for a while."

Hobson nodded eagerly. "Why, Your Majesty, your charming son is the talk among the citizens today, you know, and they are so very glad that he has awoken…none too soon after Master Reaver's visit, of course."

Darius opened his mouth to retort, but a fierce knock came upon the war room's doors. Forgoing his anger, he turned and called out, "Enter."

A serving boy, dressed in waiting clothes of a white apron and simple brown garments, entered the room. He seemed anxious, and Darius couldn't quite recall ever seeing the lad before. He was likely new to the job.

"Your Majesty, your brother – err – Prince – Logan – he has requested your presence in his rooms," stumbled the servant. "The guards won't let him leave to speak with you."

Darius scowled. Although he had requested that guards were to be placed on observing his brother, and even physically restraining him if necessary, Logan had been in no way restricted by

"Then let us arrive to the point, shall we? I understand that you are having relations with my former Industrial Advisor," said Logan. "Tell me, did you plan, brother, on keeping this to yourself and away from the Court or did you simply not care if the truth came out?"

Darius scowled heatedly at his elder brother.

"Guards – both of you, leave now," he growled.

"But, Sire," a guard protested, "you're not safe –"

"I am quite capable of defending myself!" he hollered, causing them to wince. "Or do you still yet not know how to follow the King's orders? Leave us!"

The guards skirted out of the room, running with their swords loosely gripped in their hands. Were it not for the situation, Darius could have found the sight amusing. But he was not amused, far from it.

The doors slammed shut behind them; and the metal hinges rattled, though Darius ignored the sound. He turned back to Logan, still scowling furiously.

"Listen, brother, I think you hardly get a say in my personal affairs when you threatened to kill Elise, my only friend outside of this blasted castle, a few years ago," he challenged. "And my dealings with Reaver won't affect my duties as King, of that you can well be assured of."

Logan scoffed. "Do you think the public will think the same thing? They'll imagine that Reaver has manipulated their King through getting him into bed –"

"My decisions have not supported Reaver's side thus far!" shouted Darius. "Is this simply all about politics, Logan, or your hate hearing of my intimacy of him?"

"I do not trust him, and neither should you," he grated.

Darius snorted. "Of course I don't trust him fully. But then, neither do I with you or anyone else. But I do trust Reaver's desire to keep his wealth and status, and I can suede him through that."

Logan nodded in understanding, although it was clear that he wasn't wholly content. A silence passed between them, edgy and tense until Logan coughed.

"I still do not enjoy hearing rumours about the servants of your…couplings at night with Reaver," he said. "Tell me, how long has this even been going on?"

"We are not in a relationship of any sort, if that is what you're imagining," Darius retorted, stepping back with crossed arms. "And last night, he came to me with information about my Seal of Light. It was because of him that Tristan is now awake…the Seal acts as a form of protection, I do not know why, but I intend on finding out."

Darius declined to inform Logan that Reaver had a Seal of the Shadows; it wasn't likely that he would take information well, after all.

"And where would you discover your answers?" "Why not allow your Seal to simply protect Tristan?"

"Tristan wears the Seal around his neck and Reaver informs me that this protection cannot last," Darius said. "I intend on seeking a more permanent protection for Tristan, and even aid from the Light against the coming Shadows and Darkness, by travelling to the Temple of Light in Oakvale, a five day's trip to the North from here."

"And when shall you be departing, then? Will you be going alone?"

"You, Captain Finn and Reaver are coming with me, Logan, and we'll be departing with for Oakvale in two days if I have my way amongst the court," he informed. "So, just make sure to pack your bags and be ready to leave by then."

Logan frowned, his dark eyebrows narrowing lightly.

"Fine, I now understand your desire to venture on this trip, brother. But why would you have Reaver journey with us? As Albion's most significant industrial owner, surely he is better suited to remain here."

_Because I want him to travel with us – and he has a Seal of his own, as well, _Darius thought idly.

"Because, believe it or not, Reaver is a Hero as well," Darius instead replied, "and I don't know what we'll meet in Oakvale. The temple of Light is in ruins there, and I want as much help as I can gather if we're going to seek out this fabled Light."

_Plus, I doubt I could stand the trip alone with you,_ he added mentally.

"Then…I will make sure to pack the essentials," he murmured lightly. "Yet what of the Black Seal, my own? I wouldn't like for the any to take something that came from the Darkness…"

"Yes, make sure you take it with you," he answered briskly, "…at any rate, your Seal might come to be useful." Darius stepped towards the doors, "If that is all Logan, then goodnight."

Logan nodded. "Yes, goodnight."

Darius retreated from the room, ordering the guards who had flown from the room to return to their posts outside Logan's room. He couldn't fault them; they were merely doing their duty, despite that they had questioned their King.

Running a hand through his hair, Darius sighed and made for his bedroom. Tomorrow, he would have to discuss his plans to travel to Oakvale with his anointed Council (Finn, Walter, Kalin, etc), as well as state that Walter, Page and Hobson would rule for the short period of his departure. Indeed, it was sure to be a tiring day for them all tomorrow.


	4. Oakfield

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Okay, so the Crawler is the bringer of darkness, a supposed unstoppable being, right? So why is it that we know next to nothing about this darkness? In any case, I'm sorry about the wait, but I hope this satisfies readers; I certainly had fun writing the nightmare. Also, the reason Reaver acted the way he did, dwelling over marriage and whatnot in the previous chapter, shall be soon revealed. Do enjoy…

_Summary: The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**When Shadows and Darkness Descend**

**Chapter Four: Oakfield**

_He reloaded the Black Dragon pistol and fired repeatedly again. Descending in all around him, the Shadows were hollering and crying out with laughter. When two fell, others replaced them, their black auras as equally shourded as the last._

_Tiring and dressed in a dirty plain shirt, pants, and boots, every inch of him felt scrapped and worn. One of the Shadows had managed to bury their sword into his left arm; the slice the sword had left burned, as if melted oil was continuously being poured into the wound whenever he moved. It was deep, and Darius struggled to hold the torch in his hand._

_The Crawler's tunnel-black eyes dawned on him from above. It was watching, always watching._

_Then the creature moved so swiftly that Darius couldn't keep sight of it for no more than a single moment. His attention was forced to return to the beckoning Shadows, but that hardly stopped him from voicing his irritation - which he had done. _

"_Coward," he cried feverishly. He fired off another set of bullets, striking the shadowy creatures in their chests and heads. They dissipated into wisps, but more fiends strode forwards. "Come on - show yourself!"_

"_Your world will turn to black, Hero," came the Crawler's sickeningly deep voice. "I am darkness itself – darkness incarnate!"_

"_You're just an ugly, foul monster, and one who talks too much!" Darius shouted. _

_The Crawler roared. From the Shadows, he pounced onto a nearby stone ledge in the cave._

"_I am the monster in the deep blackness of eternity, I am the creature that men see when they perish, and all fear me in the pits of their hearts," he raved with anger. "Even you, Hero, shall fear me…"_

"_I fear nothing!"_

"_All beings fear death's dark void," grated the Crawler, "My minions shall bring the world to their deaths, and you - you shall be its starring knight."_

_Darius fired his gun. The Crawler dissipated into the dusty air, only to reappear before his eyes in a hurling cloud of black mist, causing his torch to whither._

"_Neither Light nor Shadow may stop my dark reign over the lands," he whispered, his black eyes hauntingly stared into Darius'. "Cower, King of Albion, for darkness has already touched your soul – none of whom you know shall survive my coming wrath."_

"_I won't see Albion fall to you, monster," he growled._

"_Then perish – delve into thine own darkness, Hero!"_

_Shadows approached in thick hordes, so dense their numbers that Darius couldn't see between them. The Crawler hollered out a cruel laugh before he blew out Darius' torch and jumped with his flightless body onto the ledge above him._

_Darius fired again and again, reloading speedily but not enough. The Black Dragon pistol was knocked from his hands, and as he attempted to grab the sword from his back, a Shadow pushed his back and he fell to his knees. They crowded around him, laughing, swiping at his body with their swords and claws, and Darius bit his bottom lip in anger and tasted blood. As he looked up, the face of a Shadow - eyes black and glowing - ._

"_Give up, human!" it hissed. "Surrender to your own darkness."_

"_Never," he whispered. "I'll never give up."_

_"Then you'll die!"_

_Darius felt the tip of a sword touch against the hairs on his neck. He tensed and looked back, only to watch in terror as a shining, red-hilted sword, Reaver's sword (the one they had so violently rescued from his mansion), came spirling down towards his neck._

A monstrous, thundering noise awoke him from his nightmare. Darius blinked once, and realising that he was back in his room, leapt from his bed in a quiet panic. Sweat clung to his body; his brown fringe lay pasted against his skin; and, after a moment of panting wildly, he registered the sound of crying in the next room.

Racing towards Tristan's room, Darius released of breath of relief from his lungs when seeing that his son was wide-awake and demanding attention. Darius carried his ten-month old boy into his bedroom and sat upon his bed, rocking his son idly in his arms.

Thunder from outside the windows wracked the room. Darius leapt to his feet, lying Tristan against his chest as he pulled back the curtains to peer outside. Rain was hurtling down in waves upon the castle's gardens and Darius sighed. No doubt, he wouldn't be able to walk outside come the daylight, not if he desired the bottoms of his trousers to become soaked through. Although, it was likely that he wouldn't have a single moment to himself anyway, since his schedule would notably take up most of his day.

Fortunately, Tristan settled in naught but a half hour later, falling asleep once more after downing a good bit of milk from a small bottle. Darius hoped that the Crawler hadn't reached his son's dreams as well; if apparently only his own soul was touched by darkness, then hopefully the darkness would longer affect his son.

Perhaps the storm had awoken Tristan? Or had Darius talked in his sleep? Whatever the cause, Darius laid his sleeping son back down into his crib and returned to his own bed. But sleep evaded him that night, as the storm wracked on, and he tossed and turned in his bed. As the hour of the Dread Wolf, four o'clock, passed on, when Darius could hear only the thumping of his own heart amid the silence around him, he knew he wouldn't sleep that night.

Thus, rather than linger further to listen to his own heartbeats, he dragged himself from his room, dressed in a robe and a pair of fine boots, to the library and began to read. If he and his companions were to stand any chance in finding the lost temple of Light in Oakfield, then Darius knew that they would need all the information they could possibly gather.

He searched for many hours, scouring through letters about the darkness and epigraphs over the deaths caused by the Crawler, but on searching under the name of Albert the Light, after recalling an old tale by Walter in his youth about the holy man, he found a book called the Temple of Light.

It's inner first page read as thus:

_In a time when most of Albion's citizens had been happy to live secular lives following the decline of the old gods Avo and Skorm, now discredited by science and common sense, a man by the name of Albert wandered the land in spiritual despair, seeking answers that did not seem to exist anymore._

_He finally reached the town of Oakfield, an impoverished region where nothing grew but disease, and decided he'd seen enough of this world. He entered a cave, prepared to walk in darkness until he fell dead. Instead he reached a chamber deep in the cave and was suddenly bathed in a brilliant shaft of Light. The Light spoke to him, it filled him with a blissful serenity and it taught him the path._

_Albert the Luminous left the cave holding the Golden Oak. As soon as he planted it, the clouds parted and the sun shone down upon Oakfield._

_The land was filled with life, and its people saved. The Temple was erected shortly after, and both local farmers and people from afar flocked to join Albert's new gentle faith._

The tale then followed with the analytical thoughts of men who had attempted to fathom the meaning behind the tale. One monk believed Albert had resided in the town of Oakfield until his untimely death, becoming joined with the light upon his passing, and thus the tale signified the ultimate powers of the light. A literate farmer, who had supposedly been read stories from birth, believed that Albert had been but a Hero with a hobby for farming.

By the dawn, and after drinking a conspicuous amount of scotch, Darius found himself liking the more reasonable notion – that Albert the Luminous, a madman and a drunken, had discovered and planted a seed that was immune to disease and had been celebrated for this wondrous seed. But then, nothing was ever simple in Albion these days, was it?

/***\

A tired, hung-over King sat upon the throne, his chin lying in an open palm and his other hand lazily draped over a thigh. He wanted desperately to return to his room and rest, but there were much needed announcements to make to his people.

Originating from Mourningwood and dressed in the usual downplayed style of mud and rags, Mr String represented the people's will against the rising number of factories in Bowerstone and its surrounding areas. According to his reports and statements, the smog in Bowerstone was becoming unbearable.

Their arguments had lasted for over an hour; and Darius cared for Bowerstone, he admittedly cared a lot, but his mind couldn't remain interested. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how Reaver or the little Mr String seemed interested still.

"If you walked along our lanes, you'd know the smog that we face each day," he spat.

But Reaver merely snickered. "Oh, how you cretins must frolick with all your free time to walk about your dreary lanes. I daresay that if I choose to walk everywhere, I'd be late for all my meetings," he retorted, before turning to His Majesty. "This smog is hardly of dire importance, Your Highness."

Forgoing the desire to bring two fingers to the bridge of his nose in irritation, Darius tensed his arms in the throne. He coughed, and held up a hand.

"I have made a decision," he called over them, bringing the whispering voices of the crowd to silence. "The factories shall be built, and that is the end of the matter!"

"Ah, thank you, Your Majesty," said Reaver, with a respectful bow and a smile. "It is good to know that sensibility still rests in the thoughts over our nation's industrial growth."

"Your Royal One, the pollution –"

Darius's lips bristled. Of all the men to represent the matter on pollution, he had to have a man who couldn't compromise or respect the King's final word.

"The new law enforced this morning has settled this matter, Mr String," he grated. "As long as Reaver and other industrial owners keep to his law, which regulates that no man shall work for more than ten hours a day, the pollution rate should be reduced. The matter of the Bowerstone's smog shall be looked into more carefully, however, understand know that we cannot cease factory growth, not when we face an upcoming attack in but a year's time."

Mr. String grunted in acknowledgement, though by his narrowed brow he was still evidently displeased.

"I understand, sire," he murmured gruffly.

"The crown has made its decision," declared Walter loudly to the audience. "Until the King's return, any petitions from this day forth shall be pitched to the ears of the King's Court, to either myself as Military Advisor, Page as Advisor to the people, or to Hobson as the Royal Financial Advisor. Thank you for your presence, and court is now dismissed for the day."

As people began to retreat from the throne room in packs, Reaver stepped from his position as Disputer to stride up the steps towards Darius.

"I shall have the new factories built today, Your Majesty," he addressed quite formally, with a low bow. Darius knew that all his bowing was more for the departing crowds than for his own respect; yet still, it was endearing to see Reaver's googles upon his hat almost slipping off. "Your troops shall have the finest weaponry in all of Albion. No thing is too well-made for his Royal Highness, particularly during such dire times."

"Thank you, Master Reaver," Darius acknowledged, with a slight nod and a rising warmth at the cheeks, since conversations with Reaver over weaponry always seemed to remind him of their prior talks (and actions) in Reaver's ship's hold. "It is very good of you to keep in mind Albion's troubles. But may I have a private word in your ear?"

Reaver nodded, and tapped his cane with a smile. "Whatever His Majesty wishes," he said.

Darius stepped up from his throne, and Reaver followed him over to the back-right corner of the throne room, where their voices hopefully wouldn't be overheard. Behind the pillar, the King watched as the last of the crowd left through the doors, leaving only himself, his Court and a few stationed guards.

However, despite the informality now, Reaver stood with all grace and pretense as before.

"May I say, you do look awfully tired this morning, Your Highness. A late night rendezvous perhaps?" asked Reaver, with a deceptive smile.

"No, and I'm fine, Reaver," answered Darius, shrugging off Reaver's raising brow. Whether Reaver was seeking to know if the King had other lovers or had merely a bad night's sleep, Darius didn't know. He never did know with Reaver. "Let's just get down to business, Reaver – I'm in no mood for small talk."

"Very well, Your Majesty, what is your will?"

"Do you recall our deal two nights last?"

"Of course. We came to a most invigorating settlement, did we not?"

Darius urged himself not to scowl or grin at the memory of just how their deal had ended. Reaver certainly had a way of making one lose focus on the situation.

"I'm glad you remember," he whispered, noting how Reaver's grin widened slightly, "because I shan't have to remind you then of your promise to accompany me and my companions to the Temple of Light in Oakfield. As you heard with my announcement, I plan for us to set out tomorrow eve. We shall be taking your ship again, if that is agreeable?"

Reaver nodded; his grin remained despite the demand, surprisingly.

"It is," he answered.

"Good; then we can meet at Bowerstone's docks, only not under the illusion of darkness and false names this time," said Darius. He chuckled at the memory of when they boarded his ship, frightening the crew with Reaver's speech, but then sighed. "Make sure to meet us at around three and ready to make sail, Reaver."

"And if I had not a ship at the ready to take His Majesty? If I said that I had important business in the city tomorrow," scorned Reaver, yet with curious eyes, "…what would you have done, then?"

"I would leave without you, Reaver," Darius remarked coolly, his eyes locking with Reaver's despite knowing that Hobson, Walter and Ben were watching intently. He was only thankful that Page wasn't at the castle this morning; since Ben had informed her of his escapades with Reaver, no doubt their talks would impress her wrongly. Still, Darius idly wondered if any of the others - Ben especially, since he had seen them kiss in Reaver's quarters - would think them flirting, too, instead of talking on serious matters. "Your presence would be sorely missed, Reaver, since your expertise on the shadows amongst other things is great, but as I said, this journey to Oakfield takes priority."

The comment seemed to irritate Reaver less so than Darius had intended. He stepped back and bowed, returning up only to lean on his cane; his grin turned to a smirk, and Darius had to force himself mentally to neither slap nor kiss his smug expression away.

"Then I am pleased His Majesty relies upon my expertise, whatever his excuse may be," replied Reaver, winking. "I await tomorrow with sincere anticipation. Tatty-bye, for now."

"Yes, for now," Darius muttered stoically; and he watched Reaver turn and depart from the throne room, his cane clinking with his every step.

It was not until the doors slammed shut that Darius, noticing only now, relaxed his clenched hands. He breathed in, silently huffed, and turned to his companions to inform them that they would be travelling by Reaver's ship once more. He only hoped Ben's mockery would be kept to a minimum, considering Darius was now King, but he doubted it.

/***\

As Darius joined Ben and Logan in stepping out of the carriage and onto the docks, avoiding a barrage of wine barrels and crates, his lips parted in surprise. Barry Hatch, bruised and scarred, stood alive and well in a formal jacket and blue breeches, and not a few feet from the boarding walkway to Reaver's ship. Conversing with Reaver on the docks, Darius caught Hatch shooting him a cheerful wink.

Darius shook his head. He urged Ben and Logan to carry their belongings over to the ship, although each of them only had a small bag of clothing on them. Darius did not expect them to be gone for a long time, a few days at most hopefully.

However, in his arms, Darius carried his son. Although the trip would likely be arduous, he refused to leave his son behind to the will of his servants. The last time he had left Tristan behind, he had fallen under the Shadows' grasp and he couldn't allow that to happen again.

Reaver waved Hatch away with their approach.

"Young Hatch has recovered splendidly from his little hiccup, wouldn't you say? And in such a short span of time, too, how very obliging of him," remarked Reaver.

"Two months – he recovered in just two months?" asked Darius disbelievingly. "His innards were slashed, ripped apart by that woman posing as a balverine, and he recovered in just two months."

Reaver laughed. "Well…I wouldn't say he is back to his full character," he murmured, before moving closer to whisper lightly against Darius' ear; "If he does start pawing at your clothes or perhaps even seems to grow too hairy at the limbs, do let me know, Your Majesty."

Darius paused, and then scowled as he realised the meaning behind his words.

"_We're travelling with a balverine_," he hissed.

"There are things in Oakfield that may require more than any rudimentary gun," snipped Reaver, and stepped back to bow impressively low. Darius spotted, from the corner of his eyes, crewmen staring at them from the ship; and, both irked and amused him to no end by Reaver's continued pretense, he watched as the man raised himself to his original height once more. "Welcome aboard, My King."

As Reaver turned for the walkway, Darius followed and boarded the Narcissus for the second time in his life; and in his opinion, it was two times too much.

The crewmen gathered in their bumbling pack to listen. Darius wondered if Reaver performed these little speeches every time he came aboard, or if this was simply for their own benefit.

"Now, my beloved cretins, you may have noticed an extra crewmember, however small the being may be, onboard," he said, his eyes flickering over to the bundle in Darius' arms. "Now, His Majesty's son shall be travelling with us for the time being, and any man or woman who attempts to so much as tap the lad on the shoulder will…oh yes, be shot. Make no mistake, my lovely illiterate, pirating folk, even breathing near the dear boy will get you a prized bullet in the skull. But then, I'm quite sure that you all understand this cautionary warning, so now, chip chop. Back to work."

Reaver gestured for Darius and Ben to follow him from the deck onto the helm. Leaning lazily beside the wheel, they spotted Terrie and Hatch chatting.

She hadn't changed in the past few weeks. Her striped shirt bared a few tears, her shorts evidently had been originally fashioned for a male, and she still carried a confident air about her form. Nonetheless, leaning beside her, Barry Hatch continued to speak with absolutely awful pickup lines.

"Come now, how about we take a turn in the sack? A rumble in the hatch?" he snickered, wiggling his eyes sardonically.

She huffed. "Why, you repugnant, little –"

"Plot a course for Oakfield, Navigator Terrie," ordered Reaver, moving to lean over the wooden barrier nearby the couple. They turned, and by their stunned, nervous faces, they obviously hadn't heard them clambering up the stairs. "I intend to have us arrive by tomorrow night."

Terry nodded, and a smile quirked at the corner of her lips.

"Right you are, Captain Reaver."

Reaver grinned. "Oh, you're an absolute minx when you address me like that." He turned to Darius, and called with a nonchalant tone, "…And Hatch, you infested pit of dung, bring our dear companions' things up onto the ship, particularly that crib-contraction for His Majesty's son. Any idleness won't be tolerated on this voyage, you know."

"Ah, yes, Master Reaver. Right you are."

Reaver sighed. "It is Captain from whence I stepped aboard, you demented fool. _Captain_ Reaver," he seethed.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, Captain."

Darius scowled, and turned to lean over the barrier with his son. Despite the loudness of the docks and the workmen aboard ships, Tristan hadn't so much as stirred. Darius hoped that it was because of his Seal that he continued to remain so content for the rest of the journey.

However, his thoughts were immediately overturned as Reaver began to direct orders, even asking his companions to settle in to their new quarters below deck whilst he could discuss a matter with the King of Albion. Although Logan had severely objected to Darius and his nephew being left alone without a guard, he couldn't further object when Darius had argued that he was the King and could order his brother downstairs. It was petty, but it worked; with gritted teeth and a sack over his back, Logan had departed; and Ben, not before shooting Darius a cool wink, had followed Logan.

Darius couldn't help but think that Ben wouldn't be so leniant with Reaver's presence if he knew that Reaver had a hand, if only a small one, in Major Swift's execution. But still, Darius knew Reaver wouldn't attempt anything out in the open; and whatever the matter with his factories was, being that the issue hadn't been brought up in Court it likely wasn't anything of real importance. Thus, as Reaver settled to lean over the barrier's edge beside him, Darius snorted.

"Sending off my brother and my personal guard now just to talk to me," quipped Darius, with an idle grin. "How very low of you, Reaver."

Reaver sniffed in a rather haughtily manner.

"Hardly. I simply wanted to inquire after your well being now that your son wears the Seal and not yourself. Call it an experiment…or idle curiosity, if you will."

"I'm fine, tired and hung-over, but fine," he lied. Darius supposed that the definition of 'fine' didn't include having nightmares of the Crawler every night since; it was distressing to know that the darkness could catch him in his sleep, but he wouldn't provide Reaver with any weaknesses. Instead, he turned the tables back and asked, "Are you wearing yours?"

Reaver paused.

"Yes," he murmured softly, as he placed a hand over his collarbone to indicate his Seal's presence, "…I always do."

They watched as Hatch dropped the crib and released a mouthful of curses, before a crewman ventured down the plank to assist him in carrying it onto the ship. Darius chuckled lightly, though stopped when he noticed that Reaver was staring with a narrowed brow at the men.

"How _delightful_. I'll have to teach that inane tongue of his again at some point to remain silent when around guests, and it is not an amusing task," Reaver grumbled, and Darius neither knew whether he was serious or not. "There is too much belly and not enough wits in that urchin."

"Why keep him around, then?"

Reaver snickered. "Why do you keep that young Finn about? Why, for amusement of course. Hatch, despite his irritating ways, is never one for making things uninteresting at a party. Once, he even sent the Lady of Millstone dashing to the exit. Oh, she returned, they always do, but the dear sight –"

"Our kinds of amusement likely mean different things, Reaver."

"Perhaps," he conceded with shrug. He turned away from the sea to face Darius, "Tell me, after your produced your little offspring, who was the first male that caught your delightful blue eyes. You could not have engaged into such an affair whilst under your family's noses, particularly your brother Logan's, and I hardly think that you would dare to be so open whilst in the company of that boorish Sir Walter after leaving the castle."

Darius scowled and eyed Reaver's expression, looking for some form of mockery.

"Walter is the bravest men I know…and he isn't dull," he snarled half-heartedly, instantly knowing after he spoke, by Reaver's widening grin, that he had merely been joking. "Besides, the old coot deservers some respect. He taught me all he knew with a sword."

"But not with a gun or your Will," rebuked Reaver, "…and you did not answer my question, my King."

"All right, it was a man called Brian Wrung," said Darius. "Happened at Brightwall Inn, and it's just the usual cliché story. I was pissed drunk and irritated by my second wife's betrayal; he was handsome and flirty; and one thing led to another. I ended up in his bed at his house and left in the morning before he awoke. None of my companions ever found out, and I've never seen or heard from him since."

"And what of Captain Finn, that able young soldier you keep so close to your burly chest?" he asked. "Have you done the _dirty_ with him?"

"_No_ – he's a friend! A bloody annoying one, yes, but still a friend," insisted Darius, with a narrowing gaze. "Why, have you suddenly become jealous now, Reaver?"

"Never. Yet it is such a pity to think that the young Captain goes without," he murmured, winking and a corner of his lips quirking. "Well, I shan't keep you. Know that down below are your bed quarters, along with your son's once Hatch brings the crib, and that my offer still remains. If ever should you feel the need to loosen the breeches, as these sea-urchins say, do find me in my quarters, Your Majesty."

Reaver gracefully retracted his arms from the wooden railing to walk down the stairs and order his men about.

Darius stood and followed suit, trudging his way down the stairs with Tristan buried in his arms. As he observed Reaver grinning at a young crewman, he pondered on his own feelings – was it he who felt jealously? He had always disliked Reaver talking so intimately with Page, and when he had spoken of Hatch, Captain Finn, and

How could he feel jealously when he knew nothing about Reaver? Truly, all he knew was that the man had an atrocious sexual appetite, a passion for industry and guns, particularly pistols, and a large ego that could span across the whole of Albion. But then, he also

Darius crossed through the doorway, stepping down onto the second deck. He shook his head, willing himself to silence such thoughts. He knew that this quest should take priority in his mind, and so he couldn't let his feelings – whatever they were – for Reaver sway him away from it.

"Insufferable git," Darius muttered darkly.

/***\

As Darius walked below deck that evening, after helping some crewmen in polishing the cannons, he spotted Reaver holding Tristan by his son's crib; and in his son's chubby fingers, he held a toy gun. Scowling, Darius shoved past the surrounding and chuckling crewmen to march towards Reaver.

"It would seem that your young son delights in the sea breeze," commented Reaver, smiling idly. "And in this darling toy gun I purchased not a day ago."

The crew laughed at the Pirate King's antics. A child shouldn't be aboard any ship; there were a great number of things that they could get their hands on, but the crew seemed content with the wee one and his childish gun.

"You planned to give him that gun, Reaver," bristled Darius, looking between them. He couldn't help but think the picture right in some way; Tristan had similar eyes to Reaver, and Darius' brown hair to boot. "He's only ten months old – take it back. He's too young!"

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport," quipped Reaver. "The boy is merely experiencing the little thrill of a gunshot. Why ever shouldn't he follow in his dear daddy's footsteps, after all?"

Fuming, and swallowing down a retort, for he neither knew whether Reaver had been complimenting or mocking his shooting skills anyway, Darius then decided to take the gun from his son's hands. Only, Tristan released a whimper.

Darius snatched the gun firmly, bringing it to his side. He watched his son break out into tears and begin to wail, with his little palms reaching out in vain for the gun. So, with a malignant grunt, Darius returned the gun to his son's fingers.

"Fine," he grated, with venomous eyes drawing from Tristan onto Reaver, "…he can keep the gun, but only if he's supervised by me at all times with it."

"As you wish," grinned Reaver, with a smug wink.

Perhaps in his own sadistic manner, with all his knowledge on guns and coupled with his long life, Reaver could be good with children. Perhaps he had even been a father at some point? The idea was not unreasonable and yet, as the very thought crossed his mind, Darius pressed two fingers onto the bridge of his nose and moved across to sit on a barrel.

Reaver moved to lean against a pole nearby Darius. By his intrigued gaze, he seemed almost amused by Tristan, as the boy fiddled with the device.

In an hour's time, Tristan had shot several members of the crew, even Reaver once in the chest, before attempting to suck on the barrel's end. Darius then took Tristan from Reaver's hands and held him to his chest, making sure to have the plastic toy gun concealed safely away in his pocket. Not some minutes later, the few members of the crew had all stalked off; under the King's watchful gaze, each of them had been edgy around his son, and Darius oddly missed their companionship when he was Gunslinger

"Well, isn't he is a little darling," remarked Reaver, huffing lightly as Tristan laughed.

Darius scoffed. "Indeed, he is, when he's asleep that is. He's just being nice now because you gave him a _gun_."

Despite the quipped smile at the corner of his lips at Darius' mockery, the expression quickly vanished to be replaced by a serious one.

Reaver sighed. "Darius, I must apologise for the other night," he murmured, stepping forward to whisper, "I was not in my right mind when I spoke so of a marriage between us. Such a pitiful word, you know – _marriage_. And I am quite sure that you regret our night - that it was perhaps...a mistake, even?"

Darius swallowed anxiously. "I wouldn't call that night a mistake," he replied, eyes narrowing in alarm and heart thumping wildly. "I personally don't regret it one bit."

"Even so, once our trip has ended and our little deal done with, I feel I must step away from the Court. I will still of course bring my business proposals to the Crown and remain a most ardent Disputer, but personal visits…well, I doubt the Court would be disappointed to see me less," he remarked, with an pleasant, small smile. "I wish you – and your darling little Prince – a good night," he whispered, and swept from the room with his boots making light, but no less quick, steps to make for the upper deck.

Darius' heart ached. His chest hurt so to the point that he wanted to call Reaver back, have him explain why he thought their night together had been a mistake. Would Reaver tell him, though – would he tell the truth? How did he even feel about Reaver?

Shaking his head, Darius moved over to his son's crib. The day had been long; he had assisted the crew in checking the cannons, impressing them with his knowledge, despite that he had learned much from when he was aboard before. He supposed idly that a mask and some make-up truly did make a difference in a disguise.

Placing his son in his crib with his brown teddy, Darius moved to settle into his hammock. Above him, Ben was snoring loudly and Darius grew evermore envious of his friend as the night progressed on. Yet it wasn't for two hours more, when his melancholy thoughts finally settled, that Darius fell asleep, and even then his dreams turned to infested nightmares of darkness and shadows.

/***\

"But why do I have to look after Tristan?" moaned Ben, once the sun had risen and they were moving onto the shore. Logan and Reaver were already off-ship, and only Ben seemed to have a problem with the plans; although Darius could hardly blame him, considering Ben had been charged by Walter as his personal guard for the journey. "Can't one of the crewmen, or your brother?"

"I don't trust Logan," he answered, his eyes flickering over to his brother's form on the shore, "and I need Reaver with me when we go into that cavern. Also, I don't trust his crew, not even Terrie over Tristan's health. I'm sorry, Ben – but there'll be plenty of fighting likely later, yeah?"

Darius also didn't want his son being around a balverine. No matter that Barry Hatch was coming with them, Darius still felt that having a balverine so close by wouldn't end well.

Ben snorted. "There better be."

Kissing his son goodbye and departing down the walkway with a hardened heart, Darius called for his companions to start making their way into town. If they noticed his solitary manner as they paced about searching for signs for the Temple, the three chose not to comment on it.

Darius had hardly spoken with Reaver since the man had confessed that their night together was but a mere mistake, and Logan and Barry were hardly brilliant conversationalists. Darius idly wished that he had brought Walter along, for at least then they could talk on military tactics and drinking.

Still, Darius was silently thankful that he brought Rylin along. He fancied that he trusted his dog more than any of the companions he was currently walking with.

After questioning the villagers, they hiked up to the temple. The temple lay partially in ruins. Many of the monks had apparently died from the rising number of deadly beetles and hobs in the area; and being pacifists, Darius was surprised that the few monks left had managed to survive at all.

They were greeted by a monk called Bassley, a man dressed in white and who spoke of the light as a living force. Truly, Darius wasn't the only one sceptical about the whole light thing; Logan snorted behind him when Bassley began to recite some poem or another, and Reaver had pulled out his gun.

"Do you know where we might find the cave where Albert once wandered into?" Darius finally interrupted, after becoming bored by the monk and mindful of his companions causing an incident. "This is a King's visit of a sort –"

"Oh, yes, of course. The cave is down the path where you just came up. It's situated in the woods, not far, and you can't –"

With mindless cries, a great number of hobbes came upon them from all directions.

"Sister Hannah – help!" cried the monk. "Sister Hannah!"

A great roar of fury came from down the hilly path. A woman dressed in rags, built well with muscles, and lightly tanned, came racing up, a heavy hammer wielded in her hands; and as Darius reloaded his gun, she crushed a hob's skull with her hammer without even grimacing.

Barry Hatch let off his rifle, shooting men in the limbs and missing at times. He wasn't exceptional, but he wasn't dead either. Darius oddly wished that Ben could have been with them; he was a much better shootsman with a rifle.

Still, Logan and Reaver seemed to be competing. Reaver's shots never missed their mark; and despite being out of practice for so long, Logan's movements were so sure yet powerful. They were calling out numbers to each other, and Darius silently grinned at he noted that his brother was but one kill behind, irritating Reaver immensely.

As the last living hobbes retreated over the edges of the cliff and down the paths, Darius caught one the back, out-firing Reaver by mere seconds with the Black Dragon. He sheathed the gun and turned to the monks and the woman standing by the temple's doorway.

The strong-headed woman swung her hammer onto her back, ignoring them in favour of turning to the monk.

"Is everyone all right, brother Bassley?" she questioned, as she kicked a hob's corpse over the edge of the hill. "No casualties this time?"

"No one was hurt, Sister, and thank you," he reassured, panting between his words. "Now, I feel I must rejoin the other monks in the Temple. I fear I am about to be sick…"

"Yes, you go rest," she murmured stoically. "I'll deal with these lot."

The monks left them for the temple, and Reaver chortled.

"Ah, the big-bodied woman returns from those warring monks in the north," he mocked, tapping his cane against the stone floor. "One would have thought that you'd never return to these prudish twits."

"Great, it's you again, Reaver," she remarked, her brow narrowing as she observed him. "And you've a cane now? What – getting old, are we finally? I thought you left for Samarkand for good?"

"Canes are the latest in fashion these days, but then, I hardly think you can talk of fashion in those rags, my dear," he replied icily. "My return to Albion was always at the front of my mind, although I do have such fond memories of the place. Garth was essentially a troublesome one, always following me about and insisting on my remaining friendly with the locals. You know, it was almost a pity that I had to kill him in the end."

"You killed Garth?" she snarled. "You absolute bastard, Reaver – you! –"

"Now, now, would I lie to you?"

The woman moved with echoing steps to punch Reaver in the face. Reaver wheeled back on unstable feet, and Rylin barked wildly as Darius placed himself quickly to shove between them.

"Let me pass, kid," she growled. "He killed Garth!"

"And I need him for the time being. You will step down!"

She stepped back, her hammer swinging to wield in her arms. "Who are you, kid? Why stick around with bad company – are you one of his lackeys or something?"

Darius scowled. "I am the King of Albion and you will treat me – and my companions – with respect," he snarled. "

"The King, aye? So you're old Sparrow's son?" she asked, her voice etched with scepticism. "All right, fine, so you're all grown up and King now. But why did you come back, Reaver?"

"You could say that I was called back."

Her lips bristled. "Yeah, by the shadows. But why stay?"

"Must one answer for all one's endeavours?" he rebuked, his eyes heatedly staring past Darius over to her. "I am a business man, my dear, and business men go wherever lovely entertainment can be made."

Her eyes flickered suspiciously between Darius and Reaver.

"Yeah," she said, "of course it's to do with business. Royal business, as always."

Darius scowled. He didn't trust her. She was clearly a Hero of Strength, having jumped without gaining a scratch and swung her hammer with such immense power, but not all Heroes were benevolent.

Not only that, but she seemed to know his own mother and Reaver and a cold sensation grew in Darius' chest. Although this woman had known Sparrow, the old Queen and his mother, Reaver's associations weren't to be trusted. Plus, she'd an ample bosom and strong muscles, and Reaver's tastes were unique. Darius didn't know what he found attractive, and he loathed that he felt even slightest bit jealous at the thought of her being one of Reaver's past flings.

"Who are you?" seethed Darius. "And why did you help us?"

"Help you? My king, I'm the protector of this place now that the darkness is coming. The name's Hannah," she greeted, with a quipped smile, "but you can call me Hammer."


End file.
